


Devolution

by poetzproblem



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Friendship/Love, Quinntrospection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 08:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 54,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetzproblem/pseuds/poetzproblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She isn't Lucy anymore, and she isn't the prom queen. The only thing that Quinn is sure of is that she's Beth's mother, and maybe if she finally accepts that, the rest will fall into place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Degeneration

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at ff.net.  
> Written as a way to explore what Quinn could have been thinking and feeling at the beginning of season three.

 

 

_**Devolution** \- (n) 1. a passing down or descent through successive stages of time or a process._

 

**_xox_ **

 

**Part I: Degeneration**

* * *

It's really just seven little words that set it all into motion.

Quinn is driving herself home from the McKinley High School parking lot after having spent over three hours on a bus from Cleveland—and that torturous affair was after a two-hour flight from New York immediately followed by standing around baggage claim at the airport for an hour. She's been awake since the butt-crack of dawn, and she's exhausted, physically and emotionally, not only from the trip but from everything that's gone wrong in her life over the last month. First she lost prom queen, then Finn dumped her (at a funeral, no less) to be with Rachel Berry (again), and then New Directions failed to even make the finals at Nationals, thanks to said Finn and Rachel and their epic fail at keeping their lips off of one another. And maybe Quinn had experienced about fifteen minutes of wanting to hurt Rachel more than she wanted to win Nationals, but she got over it before they went out on that stage, and now she's just disappointed and a little pissed. Everyone is—well, Santana is more than just a little pissed.

Quinn really isn't all that surprised though because she's known all along that Rachel Berry would throw herself back into Finn's oversized arms the moment he crooked his finger. She's half-expecting Rachel to give up on New York altogether now that she has Finn to focus on again, and Quinn reminds herself that she doesn't care. She'd warned the girl after all.

She is a little surprised that Rachel and Finn have been keeping their distance from one another since the results were announced. They both obviously feel guilty, and maybe they're regretting what they did; maybe Rachel really did mean it when she told Finn nothing and no one would keep her from her dreams; maybe, just maybe, they aren't going to be all sunshine and roses from now on. Not that Quinn cares anymore. She doesn't. At all.

She should be happy that New Directions even managed to place twelfth because St. James (the smug, prick that he is) was right about their lack of preparation. They hadn't even written a song for God's sake, let alone rehearsed, until six hours before their performance. How can anyone win like that? Sue Sylvester would have never allowed her cheerios to set foot in a competition without having practiced and perfected at least twenty routines. The glee club is lucky they placed as high as they did, kiss or no kiss.

So when Quinn finally pulls into her driveway, she's mostly thinking that all she needs is to crawl into her bed and sleep for twelve or so hours, and life will go on tomorrow. There are two weeks of school left, and she has to make it through finals, but then it will be lounging by the pool and reading books all summer. Maybe she'll even invite Santana and Brittany over and try to be friends again—or maybe become real friends for the first time.

She walks through the door, tugging along her suitcase, and her mother is right there to greet her with a polite smile. She expects to be asked how her trip was or about New York, but her mother stops and tilts her head curiously as her smile slips enough to make it sting when she says, "What have you done to your hair?"

Seven words.

Quinn doesn't remember how she got from the foyer to the sofa, but that's where she is when she finally realizes that she is sobbing so hard that she can barely breathe, and her mother is patting her shoulder awkwardly and murmuring her name over and over again while asking repeatedly what's wrong. Quinn doesn't even know, and that only makes her cry harder.

The only thing she knows is that it hurts. Everything—just hurts. And then everything just sort of erupts into endless words and raging emotions as Lucy Quinn Fabray finally breaks.

xx

Judy doesn't really know what to do with an emotional Quinn. She just sort of sits on the sofa with a blank expression while Quinn cries and yells and spits hurtful words of blame. Judy timidly suggests therapy, but Quinn outright refuses. "Too little, too late," she mutters before she races up the stairs.

She collapses into bed and passes out cold, and when she wakes up the next morning, she forces her still roiling emotions down as deep as she can and tells herself that she can go back to pretending that everything is okay, just like she always does. She knows it's a lie when she can't meet her own eyes in the mirror, but that's never stopped her before. She ignores her mother and heads to school without a word, ghosting through her first two classes with a perfected indifference and a stubborn refusal to think about anything outside of the repetitive lectures. When she sees Rachel Berry in the girls' bathroom between second and third period, she feels the tenuous hold on her façade begin to slip. Quinn takes a deep breath, grits her teeth, and bites back the frightening need to either scream at the girl or break down sobbing in front of her.

Rachel looks less than chipper though, and Quinn guesses that she's still upset about their loss at Nationals. The girl ducks her head and averts her eyes, and Quinn feels a tickle of annoyance at the submissive reaction. "It wasn't your fault," she hears herself impulsively saying—to her complete shock—but she suddenly realizes that she means it. She's spent so much time either blaming everything wrong in her own life on Rachel Berry or feeling inexplicably jealous of the girl, and it's never made her any happier. Rachel is just a girl, like Quinn is just a girl, and they've both made mistakes.

Rachel's eyebrows arch in surprise as she meets Quinn's gaze in the mirror, and Quinn can clearly see the confusion and uncertainty shimmering there. She takes a moment to wonder at the fact that they keep having these weird moments in bathrooms. When Rachel fails to respond, Quinn feels the need to clarify. "Nationals. You're not the reason we didn't make the finals." Finn is, she thinks sourly, but doesn't say. Yeah, she might still be a little bit bitter about the whole Finn thing.

Rachel sucks her lower lip between her teeth and drops her gaze but not before Quinn notices the telling shimmer of moisture. "Thank you for saying that, Quinn, but I know that everyone blames me for my stunning lack of professionalism."

It's mostly true of course. They'd all experienced that initial moment of pinning their loss squarely on Rachel, but everyone, with the exception of Santana, had let it go pretty quickly. Quinn thinks again about how easy it has always been to blame Rachel for the bad things and ignore the good things that she's tried to do for all of them. "I don't blame you," she confesses quietly but firmly. She's not just talking about Nationals. She doesn't want to hold this permanent grudge against Rachel anymore—it's too exhausting.

Rachel looks up, obviously surprised that Quinn would say that. She smiles sadly and admits, "I kind of blame myself though. I shouldn't have allowed my feelings for Finn to distract me from a performance."

"Are the two of you back together?" The question spills out before Quinn can stop it, and she wants to kick herself for regressing so damn quickly. She's not supposed to care about this anymore. "Never mind," she rushes out, "it's really none of my business."

"It's more your business than anyone else's, I suppose, considering our rather tangled history. Finn and I…we haven't really talked about anything. I love him, but…" she trails off with a shrug. Quinn feels a little tickle of excitement at the qualifier, though she can't explain why. She doesn't really want Finn back again, because as much as she wants someone to love her, she finally realizes that going around in this endless circle with Finn and Rachel only ever makes her feel more like a failure.

"You'll be leaving for New York after graduation anyway," Quinn finishes the unvoiced thought. She attempts to smile, but her reflection in the mirror shows her that she doesn't quite succeed at being sincere. She's unsure why she feels the need to keep pushing the issue. Quinn is pretty certain that she doesn't want Finn back again, but the part of her that wants Rachel focused on her future and out of Quinn's romantic orbit just won't let it go.

Rachel frowns slightly, but she doesn't start babbling about the epic and endless love she shares with Finn and how time and distance won't separate them, so Quinn counts this as a victory and actually lets herself hope that she won't have to watch them fawn over one another next year.

Her hopes die a quiet death just four hours later when Finn and Rachel walk into glee arm in arm with sappy, love-struck smiles on their stupid faces. Quinn refuses to let them see how much witnessing their happy reunion physically hurts her, so she plasters her biggest, phoniest cheerios' smile on her face and greets them with false affability.

That afternoon, Quinn drives home, calmly walks up to her room and shatters her mirror with an old cheerleading trophy.

xx

School is done for the summer, and Quinn is officially a senior. She has one year left before she has to face the endless disappointment of adulthood, but she's beginning to think it can't be much worse than high school. She's still thinking that getting a real estate license is probably the most she can hope for, but now, instead of envisioning Finn Hudson lounging on the sofa while a couple of oversized, slightly dim offspring tug at her skirt, her picture of the future is depressingly void of a husband or children.

Quinn spends the first week of summer sequestered in her bedroom reading. She's loved books for as long as she can remember and has spent countless hours getting lost in imaginary worlds where she's braver or stronger or smarter or prettier. She's been Alice and Emma and Elizabeth and even Tom and Huckleberry. She's been Lucy too, slipping into the wardrobe and leaving the real world far behind. That one is far more literal than she cares to admit, even now.

The only friends Lucy Fabray had ever known had been the characters in her books. The only friends Quinn Fabray has ever known have been bitchy cheerleaders eager to stab her in the back the minute it was turned. She honestly doesn't know which is worse.

Quinn has no one. No true friends, no lover, no father, no chil—no one to love her. Her mother barely talks to her, and when she does, it's only to remind Quinn what a disappointment she's become. Oh, Judy doesn't say it outright of course. She wounds her daughter slowly with little words, like you were so much prettier before you cut your hair, Quinnie or you should rejoin the cheerios, dear, then you'll be a shoo-in for prom queen next year. Quinn doesn't want any of those things anymore. She's tried again and again to be the perfect Fabray daughter, and she's failed spectacularly every time.

She doesn't know what she's supposed to do now, but she knows she's done with trying to make her insane prom queen dream into a reality. She just wants to forget about the last two years and everyone who's stood by and watched her fall again and again.

It's depressingly easy to avoid contact with everyone from school when the only person who even bothers to try to get in touch with her is Rachel freaking Berry. She deletes Rachel's voicemail message after the excessively long, rambling hello and doesn't feel guilty at all. Rachel doesn't call again.

For the most part, Quinn is content to just go on existing in her own private void until schools starts in the fall, but as usual, things don't go according to her plans. The second week of summer brings an unwanted obstacle to Quinn's illusion of tranquility in the form of Russell Fabray. She's completely blindsided when he shows up for brunch on Saturday morning. He acts contrite, spouting out words of apology and regret. His tattooed floozy is gone, off to younger, richer pastures, and he's one hundred and eighty-three days sober. He's joined a new church that teaches forgiveness and tolerance, and he wants to make amends with his family. Judy is smiling and hopeful, full of promises to Quinn that Russell isn't moving back in (the right now is implied) and pleas for Quinn to give her father a second chance. Quinn wants to throw up.

She runs.

She can't even look at her father without suffocating with the remembered despair of being disowned. She hates him. She hates the unattainable expectations he had for his children—the demand for perfection and image above everything. She hates that he turned his back on his own child for making one mistake. She hates that her mother let him and only came begging forgiveness from Quinn to avoid being left alone. She hates what she and her mother were like with her father in the house. But mostly, she hates that she wants to believe him—to believe that he's really changed. She can't let herself give in, so she slams out of the house in a rage and just walks.

She's not really paying attention to where she's going, just watching her feet move against the pavement as the distance between her and her parents grows larger. Every step is another crack in the wall she's been building since she was eleven years old and Billy Coleman knocked her books onto the floor, broke her glasses, and coined the name Lucy Caboosey. She'd gone home and told her parents, and instead of supporting her and telling her that she was beautiful just the way she was, her mother had started talking about diets because she'd be so much prettier if she lost a little weight, and her father had told her to toughen up because Fabrays were winners and being a winner meant never showing weakness. Everything she's done, every change she's made to make her parents proud, has only ended in disappointment and misery.

When Quinn finally registers the ache in her legs, she's standing in the middle of Faurot Park. She can see the children's fountain in the distance and hear the laughter of happy families. Her chest aches with sudden pressure, and she can't make her feet move forward. She pushes down the hazy memory of baby soft skin and fine blonde hair and turns left toward the skate ramps instead.

Dropping onto a bench, she blindly watches a couple of skateboarders throw tricks off the ramps. One of them gets some serious height, spinning in a one-eighty. For just a minute, it looks like he's floating or flying, and Quinn remembers feeling those beautiful moments of weightlessness as she'd jumped from the top of the pyramid, trusting that her fellow cheerios would catch her. She wishes she could be that free again.

"Quinn, right?"

She jerks a little at the unexpected interruption, slamming her shoulder blades against the back of the bench as her head turns to the left. Sitting next to her is a vaguely familiar, brown-eyed brunette clad in ripped cutoffs and a black tank top. Quinn nods absentmindedly as she tries to place the girl. The brunette smirks and takes a drag of her cigarette, nodding back. "Thought so. We were knocked up at the same time," she says with a careless grin. "Gave my brat up too."

Quinn stiffens immediately at the mention of her pregnancy, and she feels her jaw clench as she pushes down the unwanted memory. McKinley is a fairly small high school, and Quinn had been painfully aware of the handful of other girls in her situation. The name of the one sitting next to her clicks into place. "Mackenzie," she mumbles under her breath as she recalls passing the girl in the halls and exchanging embarrassed glances as they maneuvered their swollen bellies through the crowd.

"They call me the Mack now," she corrects, offering her pack of cigarettes. "Want one?"

Quinn shakes her head and turns her attention back to the skaters. She doesn't want to talk to this girl. She doesn't want any reminders of sophomore year or Be—the baby.

"No offense or nothin', but you Barbie doll types don't usually hang in this part of the park."

"No offense, but you don't know me at all," Quinn snaps.

"Ooh, bitch got some bite," Mack comments with an approving nod. "Like the hair, by the way. Suits you."

Quinn doesn't know why the offhanded compliment actually pleases her, but she feels some of the tension ease out of her rigid body. She looks Mack over again, noting how drastically different the girl looks from two years ago. Gone are the Capri pants, pastel sweaters, and soft makeup. This girl is dirty and messy and just a little terrifying. Her entire posture screams that she doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks of her, and Quinn feels a strange pang of envy.

Her eyes land on the glow of the cigarette as Mack inhales another lungful and slowly exhales the smoke through her nose. Curiosity takes root along with a sick desire to do something that her parents would absolutely loathe—something that the perfect, prom queen Quinn Fabray would never think of doing. "On second thought, I think I will bum a smoke."

Mack scoffs at her phrasing but holds out the pack again, and Quinn pulls a cigarette free and places it between her lips. A flame dances to life in front of her as Mack flicks her lighter, and Quinn leans forward, taking her first taste of something wicked.

xx

Afternoons at the skate park become a recurring habit, along with the cigarettes. After that first puff—and the minute she spent nearly hacking up a lung while Mack laughed her ass off—Quinn learned how to inhale without asphyxiating. Of course, then she'd employed a bit of Google-Fu and discovered menthol cigarettes. Mack's unfiltered Camels are disgusting.

The smell of smoke clinging to her clothes gives her mother some nice new frown lines, as does Quinn's general bitchiness whenever her bastard of a father is so much as mentioned. Mack isn't exactly her new best friend, but she hates her own bastard of a father even more than Quinn hates Russell, and in no time at all, Quinn finds herself spewing all her pent up anger while Mack cheers her on. By the end of June, Quinn has shoved all of her dresses into the back of her closet and is living in cut offs and worn t-shirts.

Mack hangs out with two other girls, Ronnie and Sheila, and they call themselves the skanks. Quinn is accepted into their little group without question. They don't expect anything from her or care what she wears or how she looks or even what brand of cigarettes she smokes. Actually, they don't really care about her at all, but they don't tell her to fuck off either, and that's enough for Quinn right now. They spend most of their time at the skate park smoking and working hard on a bad attitude and general hatred of everyone and everything.

Her relationship with her mother is only getting worse, partly because of the cigarettes and new wardrobe and partly because Judy keeps pushing Quinn to make amends with her father. At least Russell hasn't shown up at the house again while Quinn's been there. She keeps deluding herself that he's never coming back.

One July morning, Quinn is walking through the park on her way to meet the skanks when she sees someone she really doesn't want to see. Rachel Berry is heading straight for her in a pair of too-short shorts and a tight, blue tank top, walking the biggest, meanest looking German Shepherd that Quinn has ever seen. She hesitates just a moment too long before turning around, and Rachel catches sight of her. The girl's eyes light up with happy recognition and Rachel increases her already brisk pace to bring her into Quinn's personal space just that much faster.

"Hello, Quinn. I hope you're enjoying your summer," Rachel chirps with a giant smile. The dog growls softly at her side and glares up at Quinn in challenge, and she takes an instinctive step back. Rachel notices the movement, and she gives the leash a little tug, quietly commanding (in German, of course), "Gershwin, platz," and the dog immediately drops down onto the grass. Rachel looks back up at Quinn with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, he can be a little protective."

"I didn't know you had a dog," Quinn mutters, a little impressed at how effortlessly Rachel handles the beast.

"Technically, he belongs to my daddy. We've only had him for eight months, but I'm finding that he's a wonderful walking companion." She bends over and lovingly scratches behind the dog's ear and a pink tongue immediately lolls out the side of the animal's mouth as his tail begins to swish back and forth across the grass. Quinn smiles despite herself. "You can pet him if you want," Rachel offers.

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass." He might look all fluffy and harmless right now, but Quinn can't shake the feeling that he somehow knows all the nasty things she's said and done to Rachel over the years, and she likes her fingers just fine where they are, thank you very much.

"I haven't seen you around much. We all missed you at Noah's Fourth of July party."

Quinn shrugs. "I was busy."

Rachel purses her lips, and Quinn knows that she's not really buying her lame excuse. Rachel has always had the annoying ability to see through Quinn's self-protective bullshit and aim straight for all her insecurities, and the worst part is that she never even seems to realize what she's doing. It's one of the reasons that Quinn can never let them be friends. If Rachel is this skilled at pushing her buttons now, how much worse will it be if Quinn actually opens up to her?

"I'm attempting to get everyone together for semi-weekly glee meetings. Not that I don't trust Mr. Schuester to adequately prepare us to take Nationals next year, but frankly, we shouldn't rely so heavily on his leadership abilities, especially when he has proven to be easily distracted in the past. I strongly feel that engaging in team bonding activities over the summer can only help improve our chances. I did try to contact you a few weeks ago, but you must not have gotten my message."

Quinn shakes her head at the classic Rachel Berry ramble and chooses not to remind her that her own inability to resist practically mounting Finn Hudson on stage was the biggest reason they lost in New York. That brief attempt to forgive and forget she was working on last month is pretty much dead and buried, but she's done and over glee and all the unnecessary drama. "Yeah, I'm really not interested."

"But, Quinn," Rachel begins with a frown.

"Just drop it, okay," she cuts in irritably. "I'm doing my own thing this summer."

Rachel eyes her intently, and Quinn can tell she's gearing up for another lecture, but the swooshing of wheels against concrete from the nearby pathway keeps Rachel silent, and Quinn turns to see a craggy-faced skateboarder with shaggy brown hair and an unshaven jaw skid to a stop a few feet away from them. "Yo, cutie. Heading my way?" he asks with a wink.

Quinn notices Rachel stiffen beside her and hears a low growl rumble up from Gershwin. "Just a second, Tommy," she warns him quickly, not at all eager to have Rachel sic her dog on the guy.

He glances at Rachel and smirks in what he believes is a roguish way. Kicking his colorful skateboard up and tucking it under his arm, he decides to sidle over to Quinn and sling his free arm casually over her shoulder, regardless of the suddenly alert German Shepherd tensed and ready to attack. "Hey. You a friend of my girl, here?"

Rachel's eyebrows disappear under the fringe of her bangs. "Y-yes."

"S'cool," Tommy says with a smile before giving Quinn a little squeeze. "C'mon, babe. Come cheer your man on. I'm working some serious tricks today."

Quinn watches Rachel's expressive face clearly display every thought that's undoubtedly racing through her overactive mind, and she sighs. "See you at school, Rachel." The girl's mouth falls open, but she doesn't say a word as Quinn lets Tommy lead her away. When they turn a corner toward the skate park, Quinn throws one curious glance over her shoulder to make sure Rachel is out of sight before she shrugs out of Tommy's grip. "Don't get any ideas," she mutters, digging in her pocket for her pack of cigarettes.

"You know you want me, Q-Tip. Just a matter of time," he laughs as he slams his board onto the pavement and jumps on, rolling ahead of her and popping the wheels up into the air beneath his feet.

xx

Seeing Rachel in the park sets Quinn off into another angry spiral. She keeps thinking about New York and Finn and getting dumped and Rachel's stupid, wide-eyed school girl fantasies of true love and fate and getting everything she wants. Quinn hasn't ever gotten one damn thing she wanted. Resentment breaks free from that little box that Quinn tried so hard to shove it into, and she can't tame it down again. She stares at her own face in her cracked mirror for twenty minutes. Rachel's voice won't get out of her head.

You're a very pretty girl Quinn — the prettiest girl I've ever met, but you're a lot more than that.

Whatever she is, it isn't ever going to be enough.

She buys a bottle of hair-dye the next day, and her mother nearly has a coronary when Quinn struts down the stairs with pink hair.

The skanks love it. They go shopping for clothes to better suit the new Quinn, and thanks to her mother's pilfered credit card, she leaves the Lima mall with a shitload of black t-shirts, pleather, and a brand new nose ring. She expects to be kicked out of the house as soon as her mother gets a good look at her, but Judy just shakes her head sadly and pours a glass of wine.

The first time her father sees her makeover it's mid-July, and Quinn isn't expecting to see him sitting in her kitchen when she comes down to grab a quick breakfast. She stops short at the sight of him sitting stoically at the table. "Shit," she mutters under her breath and immediately turns to leave, but his quiet, calm voice stops her at the door.

"I know you don't consider me your father any longer, Quinn, and I can't blame you for that. I had certain expectations that you failed to live up to," and Quinn seriously wants to punch him before he adds, "just as I failed to live up to yours. I know that saying I'm sorry won't magically fix everything. But I am….sorry. I'm only asking you for the chance to prove to you that I have changed."

"Yeah, well, so have I," she sneers, "and I really don't give a damn what you want."

"Your foul language and unfortunate appearance won't discourage me, Quinn. I understand that you're only acting out of your own pain."

That arrow hits home, and Quinn drags a hand through her messy pink hair in agitation. "A couple of AA meetings and a few feel good sermons on Sundays don't make you a new man, Russell. You don't know me. You never did. And you don't get to pretend like you care now."

She spins on her heel and tears out of the house without waiting for a response. Judy's silently crying in the living room, but she doesn't try to stop Quinn. It's always the same with her mother. She's a weak woman who lets Russell make every decision, and it's probably only a matter of time before he moves back in, but Quinn is never going to be his daughter again. She doesn't care what she has to do to keep that man out of her life.

xx

Quinn reacts by getting drunk—very, very drunk. She's at Mack's house, which is really just a glorified trailer, and Mack is in the bedroom having sex with some trucker she picked up that afternoon. Sheila and Ronnie are passing a bottle of tequila back and forth and supplying filthy commentary to a rerun of some lame high school sitcom. Quinn's hanging sideways off the armchair with her very own bottle of vodka, half-paying attention to her fellow skanks and half-pushing away Tommy, who keeps trying put his hand under her shirt.

"If you don stop fuckin' 'round, m'gonna break your fingers," she slurs, jerking her leg and kicking him in the side. Tommy winces and rubs at the bruised rib.

"You should let me fuck around with you, cutie. I'd rock your world."

Quinn snorts. "In your dreams, moron. Not doin' that again." One drunken hook-up with an immature man-child was more than enough. Next time, she at least wants to be sober.

Tommy's not really a bad guy per se. He's just a twenty-eight year old, horny, ex-junkie, burn-out who looks ten years older than he is thanks to his wasted youth, but he's Mack's brother, and Quinn's kind of stuck putting up with him for as long as she's hanging with the skanks.

Tilting her head, she squints at the television and the couple on screen, noticing how ridiculous they look standing next to one another because the girl is, like, half the dude's size. The volume is on mute, and Ronnie's dropped her voice deep and she's saying, "Come ride my giant cock, my little pygmy dwarf, because every girl wants me even though I'm a brainless jackass and you're lucky I'm even talking to you because you're supposed to be a loser even though you're hotter than every other girl on this stupid show."

Sheila whines in a high pitched, nasally voice, "But it would be wrong because I'm an uptight little virgin and we have to wait until November sweeps to get the ratings up, but kiss me anyway so the crazy-ass, tween fangirls can cream their panties because they're in love with you and are living vicariously through our boring, passionless relationship." And sure enough, the two characters come together in an awkward, chemistry-free kiss. Quinn starts laughing hysterically and she just can't seem to stop. Then suddenly, she's crying hysterically and she has no idea why.

Ronnie rolls her eyes and Sheila grunts in a half-hearted attempt at sympathy. Tommy just grumbles, "Aw, fuck," and disappears outside for awhile.

An hour later, Quinn's long over whatever that little emotional hiccup was, and Mack's kicked out her fuck buddy and has joined them in the living room, sprawled across the couch with a cigarette in her mouth. "I'm fucking bored," she complains. "Let's go do something illegal."

"Stealing the street signs?" Sheila offers.

"Did it yesterday."

"Could go beat up the little kids at the arcade and steal their money," Ronnie says.

"Nah, they only got small change."

Tommy smirks deviously, "Q-Tip's totally wasted. We could probably get her to walk through the park naked."

"In your dreams, asshole," Quinn growls, her eyes still on the television. They're watching LA Ink now and Quinn can't take her eyes off Kat's tattoos. They're so colorful and kind of mesmerizing, and fuck that woman has really nice eyes—and lips. Quinn really likes lips. She misses them. And she thinks she should probably stop thinking about them or she might do something stupid like give in to Tommy just so she can have somebody to kiss again. She wonders if that's what happened to her bastard father. Was he mesmerized by his tattooed freak's pretty body art to the point where he just couldn't keep from touching? Maybe if Quinn had gotten some ink instead of pregnant her father would have shown her a little affection too. "I want a tattoo," she mumbles around her last sip of vodka, and she misses the evil smile that Mack shares with the other skanks.

"That can be arranged."

She's not exactly proud of the tramp stamp. Actually, she's kind of completely horrified by it. The tattoo had seemed like such a good idea at the time, and she'd even had her own fucked-up, insane reason for picking Ryan fucking Seacrest that made sense to her alcohol soaked mind. She can't even fully remember getting it, which is probably a good thing because she doesn't remember feeling any pain. She just knows that Tommy had a friend who owned a tattoo parlor and hadn't asked any questions about Quinn being underage. Still, she's stuck with it now, and she has to own it because she refuses let the skanks see any sign of weakness. Maybe it can be a good thing—the final fuck you to her old life.

Well, almost.

xx

Quinn quits glee club on the first day of senior year. It's the only day she plans to show up for school early, and it's purely to tell Schuester that she's done. His eyes nearly pop out of his over-gelled head when he sees her new look, and she stifles her laughter as he stutters through one of his lame-ass speeches about family and teamwork and acceptance. She tells him again that she quits and walks out. It feels good. It feels like freedom.

It also feels like a piece of her stays in the choir room, but Quinn is ignoring that like a boss.

Not one of her so called glee family had tried to track her down over the summer—well, except for Rachel. She hadn't tried to call Quinn again or showed up on her doorstep demanding answers, but they'd caught sight of one another more than a few times in passing as Quinn was on her way to the skate park and Rachel was out walking her beast of a dog. Quinn had gotten a perverse thrill the first time Rachel had seen the pink hair. They'd been less than a yard from one another before Rachel had even recognized her, and the brief look of horror on her overly expressive face had amused Quinn to no end. Rachel had recovered quickly enough though and offered a nice, big, fake smile and a friendly hello that Quinn had ignored. Every time after that, Rachel would raise a hand and offer a meek wave and Quinn would only nod and be on her way. They never actually spoke again all summer.

Quinn doesn't speak to her mother anymore either and definitely not to her bastard of a father, who now shows up every other Saturday in an attempt to reach out to his wayward daughter. Judy is spending more time out of the house, and Quinn can guess exactly where she's going, but she won't ask. She doesn't want to know. She still has a roof over her head and money left on the table and food in the refrigerator, so she's not about to start anything else that will make that go away. One more fucking year until graduation, and she's done with it all. She doesn't stop to think about what she'll do then.

Quinn struts down the hall with her head held high, and every step drives a sense of power into her blood that rivals anything she felt wearing cheerios' red and white. She laughs at the expressions of shock and disbelief and even disdain painted on naïve faces. She doesn't care what they think.

She has time to kill before classes start, if she even decides to attend, so she heads outside in the direction of the football stadium. She used to make this trek every morning for cheerleading practice, and it feels good to see the girls on the field being put through the wringer when she knows that she doesn't have to be a part of that pointless torture anymore. She lights up a cigarette as she walks towards the bleachers and pauses by the fence for just a moment to witness the conformist hell that she isn't missing at all. Santana and Brittany catch sight of her and break away from their coach's watchful eyes. They pitch their lame campaign to woo her back into the fold under the guise of friendship, but Quinn isn't even tempted.

Santana looks her over with a shake of her head. "Quinn, look, this is our senior year, and frankly, being on cheerios isn't the same without you.¹"

"You guys are such suckers for going back to Coach Sylvester.¹"

"Come on, screw her," Santana growls. "This is for us. We could win two national championships this year. We joined cheerios together. We joined the glee club together. We all slept with Puckerman the same year," and Brittany hums in agreement. Quinn feels her jaw tense at the unpleasant reminder. Santana really needs to work on her approach, especially when she has the nerve to coo, "We're, like, besties for life.¹"

Quinn wonders at Santana's definition of besties, because the way Quinn remembers it, her best friend Santana spent freshman year riding her coattails and using Quinn as an excuse to be a grade-A bitch, only to abandon her the minute she got pregnant, leaving her alone and homeless without so much as a word of sympathy or concern. Brittany makes some inane comment about candy, which is about all she's ever offered by the way of friendship, and Quinn shakes her head in disgust. "You guys never understood the pressure I was under. It sucked. I'm not interested in the boys or the makeup or the polyester outfits.¹" She'll be damned if she's wasting another year pretending to be the Barbie doll cheerleader just to make everyone else happy.

"Look, I've got a bar of soap and a bottle of peroxide with your name on it in my locker. Come on, Quinn," Santana urges, "you can't break up the unholy trinity.¹"

Quinn laughs, because Santana and Brittany were happy enough as a duo all summer, and she's not buying their sudden desire to make it a threesome again. Quinn is still not that into that. "People grow apart. Deal with it. I've got new friends now, and they accept me for who I am.¹"

The friends part isn't exactly true, but it means something to Quinn that the skanks already know more about her and her issues and her fucked-up family than Santana and Brittany ever cared to ask. They may not be besties for life, but at least they know that a damned haircut doesn't magically fix every problem. Nothing does.

Quinn hangs out smoking under the bleachers for a while, but then she decides that she might as well actually go to some classes. It is the first day after all, and she figures putting in the initial appearance will probably make it easier to skip out the rest of the year. Quinn's not worried about her grades. She's still enrolled in AP courses, and she knows she's smart. She's never really needed to make much of an effort to keep her average up, and she's sure that she can coast through to graduation. Maybe it's not very skank-like, but Quinn really does want to graduate. She just doesn't see the point in being valedictorian anymore.

She sees Rachel in four of her classes, and it's not a surprise. They've both spent the last three years in the top two percentile, and their schedules have always been woefully in sync. What is a surprise is Rachel's silence on Quinn's absence from glee. She's certain Rachel is aware that she quit, and she's been expecting to be hit with a Rachel Berry guilt trip. When it doesn't happen, Quinn is oddly disappointed.

xx

The disappointment doesn't last long. The next morning, Rachel appears under the bleachers during homeroom. Quinn doesn't notice her at first because her back is turned, but she feels an odd little tingle on the nape of her neck, and when Mack's eyes spark with annoyance and her mouth twists into a bemused smirk, Quinn sighs and turns around.

Her eyes roam over Rachel's dress and sweater combination, and her first thought is that Kurt must have purged her closet of its plaid and argyle infection over the summer, because this is the second day in a row that Rachel's wardrobe is actually half-decent. Actually, the shorts and tank tops Rachel seemed to favor over the summer weren't exactly hard on the eyes either.

"Your friend stinks of soap, Quinn,¹" Sheila complains, but Quinn secretly loves the fresh scent of Rachel's body spray. Her sinuses have been suffering from the rancid stench of smoke, and Febreze has become her new best friend in the privacy of her bedroom.

"What are you doing here?" Because Rachel in her cute sundress with her shiny, sweet-smelling hair and wide, earnest eyes most definitely doesn't belong.

"We were friends once," Rachel reasons, even though Quinn knows that's a gross exaggeration. They've never been friends. "Maybe when you cut off all your hair last year and thought it would solve all your problems, I should have spoken up. Maybe when you dropped out of society this summer and started dating that forty-year old skateboarder, I should have said…¹"

"I'm not coming back to glee club,¹" Quinn interrupts, because she knew this was coming. Rachel Berry will do whatever it takes to get what she wants, and she wants to lead New Directions to Nationals again and actually fucking place this time. Quinn is just a body to sway in the background and make them eligible to compete.

"We need you," Rachel says, proving Quinn's point, but before she can dismiss her completely, Rachel's eyes flash with hopeful desperation and she starts to ramble. "O-okay, have you seen those purple pianos around school? We're planning this big, you know, recruiting number, and it's going to be a tribute to the Go-Go's. I mean, who doesn't love the Go-Go's?¹"

"I prefer the Bangles,¹" Sheila announces in a don't-fuck-with-me tone.

Rachel's nervous bravado wilts, and Quinn smiles, biting back a very un-cool giggle before it slips out. She might be just a little bit impressed that Rachel has the nerve to even be down here. Everyone else at McKinley cuts the skanks a very wide berth.

"Okay," Rachel pushes on. "We need your…your tremulous alto and Belinda Carlisle glamour.¹"

"I'll give you ten bucks if you let me beat her up for you, Quinn.¹"

Had Santana uttered those words, Quinn would probably laugh, because Santana would be (mostly) joking, but Mack most definitely isn't, and as much as Rachel still gets under her skin, she doesn't actually want to see her get hurt. Okay—and maybe she might actually feel a little happy that she's getting the first ever sincere compliment on her singing voice from Rachel. The happiness fades pretty quickly when Rachel starts talking again.

"I'm sorry you're so sad, Quinn. And maybe you're not going to believe me because we were never really close, but I'm sad not seeing you in the choir room. We've all been through so much together. We're a family, and this is our year to get it right," and damn it—doesn't anyone understand that Quinn is so tired of trying to get it right? "We would love to have you back in the glee club. Whenever you're ready, okay?¹"

Quinn wants to get the last word in, but Rachel is already turning to leave, and Quinn can't seem to speak past the sudden lump in her throat. She runs her eyes over the girl's retreating figure as her parting words echo in Quinn's consciousness. She doesn't want to be affected by Rachel's little speech, but as always, she finds that she doesn't have a choice.

xx

She's not sure what pulls her into the auditorium. Or maybe she is. New Directions is practicing a new song, and Quinn experiences a certain sense of déjà vu as she watches them from the wings. She's on the outside looking in, but it's not all that much different from being part of the club. She never really felt like she belonged with those people. She doesn't feel like she belongs anywhere.

If she goes back to glee club, everyone will expect her to smile and go back to being the pretty piece of eye-candy, pretending to be happy as she stands around and watches all of them reach for their dreams while hers keep slipping from her grasp. It hurts too fucking much.

So she's done with that. She has to be.

She has to be, but she isn't.

Twenty minutes later, she's still hanging around outside the school. She's got nowhere else to be, and she sure as hell doesn't want to go home and deal with her mother's thinly veiled disgust. The nearby double doors slam open and a familiar figure hurries past her toward the parking lot.

"I wasn't dating him," Quinn mutters without really thinking.

She watches Rachel stumble over her own feet and press her right hand over her heart. Brown hair whips back over her shoulder as she turns and takes in the owner of the smoky voice that startled her out of her self-absorbed revelry. Quinn is leaning back against the wall of the school, left knee jutting out and booted foot propped flat against the brick, with a cigarette dangling from her black painted fingertips.

"You really shouldn't sneak up on people like that," Rachel reprimands irritably. Hazel eyes flash with amusement as Quinn straightens from the wall and takes a drag of her half-smoked American Spirit menthol before flicking it away.

"I was here first," she drawls with a quirk of her lips.

Rachel scoffs. "I believe that loitering in a secluded corner constitutes sneaking."

Quinn raises an eyebrow and places a hand on her cocked hip. She sees Rachel's brows rise in response, and Quinn quickly changes her posture, hooking her thumbs into the pockets of her blue jean vest. She hates it when her former head bitch persona rears up and sneaks out without her permission.

"I seriously worry for your safety when you get to New York if you keep walking around oblivious to anyone or anything but yourself." Quinn intends it to be an insult (or at least she thinks she does), but she knows that Rachel doesn't really take it as such when she sees the pleased little smile curl on those glistening lips.

"I don't suppose you're lurking around to tell me that you've changed your mind and plan to return to glee club."

"You're unbelievable. Don't you ever get tired of selling the happy family crap?"

"You know, I saw you hiding in the rafters, Quinn. I know you miss glee just as much as we miss you."

"Don't flatter yourself. I just needed a reminder of how lame you all are. Mission accomplished." Quinn is lying, of course. She knows it, and she knows that Rachel does too, but she won't give either one of them the satisfaction of admitting it. She needs to be done with glee, and she needs to be done with this conversation. Moving forward, the cool, bare skin of her arm brushes against Rachel's shoulder as she pushes past her. She ignores the odd little static shock that burns beneath her flesh and heads resolutely toward her car.

"What do you mean you weren't dating him?"

Quinn's forward motion stops, and her shoulders rise and fall in a silent chuckle. She knew Rachel's curiosity would get the better of her. She just doesn't know why she feels such a strong need keep up this weird push and pull that they have going on. Quinn turns around, a wicked smirk tilting her lips up at the edges. "You think you know everything, but you don't. You saw me for, like, two minutes over the summer, and you assume you know what I'm feeling or how I'm spending my time. But you don't get to imagine up some drama to write me off with, Rachel. I'm not playing a part in your little fantasy anymore, so go play at happily-ever-after with your boyfriend and leave me out of it."

She turns to go, but she isn't fast enough to outrun Rachel's words. "My concern for you isn't an act, Quinn. I really do care about you."

"Well, stop," she growls back over her shoulder. She ignores that weird warm feeling in her stomach and keeps moving.

xx

Not much changes over the next two weeks. Quinn spends her days smoking and skipping out on half her classes, letting the skanks do their thing while she follows along unenthusiastically. She doesn't enjoy the physical bullying. Quinn has always been more about the psychological games, but name-calling and pornographic drawings just don't impress her new friends very much. Well, they actually do seem to appreciate her artistic talents, although she's not sure why Mack was quite so amused to find out that Quinn was responsible for some of the more explicit graffiti in the girls' bathrooms.

When Coach Sylvester tracks her down in one of those same bathrooms, Quinn is the one who's amused. "Sorry, Coach, you have no power over me anymore. I've got nothing left to lose.²" And that's exactly why she agrees to go along with the woman's insane plan to rile up Schuester, because she holds the cheerios and the glee club and both their petty, unsympathetic coaches equally responsible for her fall from grace. All those unreasonable expectations piled on top of the ones she already had at home? It's not surprising that she crumbled under the weight. What does she care anymore if those two supposed role models tear one another to pieces? They deserve each other.

The next day, Puckerman is the one who tracks her down and tells her she needs to come with him. She tries to shrug him off, but he tells her it's important in his most sincere voice, and she finds herself agreeing. Puck still has the power to make Quinn feel guilty for giving their—the baby away. It's one of the reasons they don't talk much anymore. That, and he's still an immature asshole most of the time.

Or maybe she just doesn't want to remember the one thing they've ever had in common.

Forgetting isn't an option anymore though, because Shelby Corcoran is standing in front of her. "You're back,²" Quinn breathes out, chest tightening with the effort to do even that much.

Shelby starts talking, and Quinn really wishes she'd just shut the fuck up, because the words are buzzing in her ears and making her head pound and her stomach turn with nausea. Then she hears the name—Beth—and everything sharpens into focus.

"I get it,²" Quinn snaps, not wanting to hear anymore about all the damn firsts that Shelby doesn't want to miss with the child that Quinn gave birth to. Quinn has already missed every first, and she'll never get any of them back, and God, why does she even care? This is what she wanted. This is what she chose. Except that she never had a choice, and she never wanted any of this, and everything just keeps going wrong over and over, and she can't control anything. And Shelby is still fucking talking.

"…so when I got this job offer I couldn't refuse. I've missed so many firsts in Rachel's life. I was not about to do that with Beth.²"

"Neat story. I'm late for a meeting on the roof.²" Quinn has to get away, but Puck steps into her path and traps her in that room that feels too fucking small for the three of them.

"Look. Since the day that I gave Rachel up for adoption, I have been walking through life searching for her face everywhere I go. Imagining what she's doing, what she may be like. I don't want you to go through what I went through. Part of me is back here because I want you to get to know Beth. I want you to be a part of her life.²"

Quinn's first instinct is to run and pretend this isn't happening, but she's been doing that for two years and it isn't working.

She hasn't ever let herself want this. Quinn had been sixteen and pregnant and homeless and scared out of her mind, and she never let herself think about the bab—Beth—as a real person. The pregnancy was just a problem to get past and then forget about. That's all she could allow it be. Everything she did for the first four months, every lie she told and scheme she plotted, was a desperate attempt to get herself out of the mess she was in. Finn was reliable (and gullible) and would help her pay her medical bills, and Mrs. Schuester was offering a home and a family and just enough craziness for Quinn to fool herself into believing she'd be able to keep everything from her own parents and still watch her daughter grow up with a mom and dad who would love her. Once those lies came crashing down, Quinn had nothing left. She was so lost and alone and miserable. She put off making any plans or decisions for eight months until she ran out of time completely and was left standing in front of the nursery window wondering how she could live with walking away and never knowing what happened to her baby. The very idea had torn her apart inside.

So, of course, when Shelby Corcoran appeared with a sympathetic smile, saying all the right words, Quinn had felt like she could finally breathe again. She hardly knew the woman at all, but what little she did know made her believe that Shelby was smart and compassionate and responsible with the means to support a child and enough love to offer the daughter she'd wanted so badly.

Perfect.

Except it wasn't.

Quinn still feels the weight of her daughter in her arms and the aching emptiness. She still closes her eyes and sees that perfect, angelic little face staring back at her, trusting her to make everything okay. She wants to believe that she did the right thing, but it's been feeling less and less right every day.

Maybe she doesn't talk about Beth, but not a day passes that she doesn't think about her, and now Shelby's giving her the chance to see her daughter. To hold her—

To make things right.

"When do I get to see her?²"

Shelby pauses and looks at Quinn, disapproving eyes raking over her clothes and hair. "Are you okay? What's wrong with you? Are you even in glee anymore?²"

Of fucking course! So much for making things right. Just like everyone else, Shelby wants that other Quinn. The perfect, pretty, wholesome cheerleader. "Did you come here just to torment me with the idea of seeing my child?²"

"Look. I want you to be a part of Beth's life, but not like this. If you're really serious about Beth, clean up your act.²"

This time, it only takes four words to break her.

Clean up your act.

Anger takes over. "You think you can tell me what to do? Just because you signed a couple of papers? You're not her mom. I'm her mom," Quinn rages, and when Puck tries to calm her, she silences him with an angry swipe of her hand, "Me," she reiterates, "so you can pretend all you want, but that is something you are never going to be.²"

Puck doesn't dare stop her from leaving this time.

xx

Quinn is still shaking with anger from her encounter with Shelby. Every repressed feeling about her daughter that she's refused to face for the last two years is bubbling over and she doesn't know what to do with any of them. She ends up in the auditorium again, and she doesn't want to ask herself why. Deep down she knows.

She'd seen the audition sheet for West Side Story on the bulletin board, and it's no surprise to find Rachel warming up for a rehearsal. Quinn didn't come here to see her. She didn't, but she's not leaving either.

The thing is, she actually likes listening to Rachel Berry sing. It's a guilty pleasure that she buries deep and covers over with feigned indifference and occasional insults. Quinn will never admit out loud to anyone that sometimes, when she's feeling particularly frustrated with the general suckitude of her life, she logs onto Rachel's YouTube account (because even Rachel has finally gotten over her MySpace infatuation) and just lets that voice carry her away from her problems for a few minutes.

It doesn't take long for Quinn to realize that her usual balm isn't going to soothe her today. Rachel is Shelby's daughter after all.

Funny how that fact once made her feel somehow better about letting that woman take her baby—like Rachel's inherent decency (despite the general annoyingness of her personality) must be as genetic as her voice and her smile. Shelby's just proved that to be complete and utter bullshit. Rachel would let her see Beth without any fucking ultimatums attached.

But then, the whole Shelby situation is a sore subject for both of them.

Quinn remembers seeing the pain in Rachel's eyes when she'd first found out about the adoption. She might be a decent actress on stage, but in real life, she wears her heart out there on full display like those atrocious sweaters she'd once favored. Quinn hadn't exactly been in a good place at the time—she still isn't—but the brief conversation she'd had with Rachel at the end of sophomore year had stayed with her. Rachel had said something about understanding why Shelby would want a baby to bond with from the very beginning in a tone of voice that clearly implied that she didn't understand at all. Until that moment, Rachel had brushed aside meeting Shelby as a right of passage, free of expectations beyond satisfying her curiosity about her birth mother, but those few words had changed Quinn's perspective and introduced the spark of a doubt that had been growing into a raging inferno for the last sixteen months. And Shelby's sudden reappearance and talk of fixing mistakes had just caused it all to explode.

She thinks if she can just talk to Rachel now, maybe she'll be able to pull herself back together again. Rachel had told her that she believed Quinn had given her daughter the chance at a better life. Quinn really needs to hear those words again, but she can wait until after Rachel is done practicing. She knows how much she wants to play Maria.

Rachel's warm-up scales trail off, and Brad's fingers still on the piano. Quinn frowns at the sudden silence, but her hackles rise when Shelby's voice echoes through the auditorium. "Your range is better. It was impressive a year and a half ago, but it's even better now.²"

"This is a private rehearsal,²" and Quinn can tell from Rachel's body language that she's unsettled. Shelby is asking about her audition piece, and Quinn knows that she shouldn't be here to witness this mother-daughter reunion, especially when her own emotions are stripped bare. She's just about to leave when she registers what Rachel is saying. "My loyalty is to the New Directions. They're my family and family means something. At least to me.²"

Shelby sighs. "Rachel, like we talked about before, I'm your birth mother…²"

"But not my mother. I know, okay? I almost had to go to therapy because of you.²" Quinn is frozen to her spot, and her heart is in her throat, because—what the hell?

Rachel is shuffling pages on the piano and looking like a whipped puppy, and Quinn wants to scream when Rachel continues to try and placate that woman. "Look, I'll be polite if I see you in the halls. I'll make eye contact, and I'll nod. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my rehearsal.²"

Shelby doesn't budge. "Somewhere there's a place for us.²"

"I just said that there wasn't!²" Other than a couple of diva tantrums that were, frankly, little more than laughable, Quinn has never seen Rachel really lose her cool, and seeing it happen because of Shelby only fans the flames of Quinn's own anger.

She has to get out of there before she runs onto that stage and slaps the woman, who is selfishly going on about her own damn stage experiences, like she has a right to give Rachel any form of advice. Quinn barely registers the rest of the conversation playing out as she silently slips out of the auditorium—although she hears enough to hope that Rachel sticks to her guns and sings I Feel Pretty, because she really is amazing at it. Quinn knows this first hand.

She thought she knew a lot of things, but apparently everything has been based on lies.

Shelby lied to her in that hospital when she cried about missing her chance to be a mom to Rachel, because as it turns out, she knowingly threw the chance away. And Rachel fucking lied to her too, by letting her believe that her estrangement from Shelby was a mutual decision.

Had she known—

Oh, God, if only she'd known.

Quinn ducks into the first empty classroom she sees and collapses into the farthest corner, sliding down the wall and burying her face into her drawn-up knees in a useless attempt to quiet her gut-wrenching sobs. Turns out she had something left to lose after all—her last little peace of mind.

xx

Quinn spends the night alone in her bedroom, silently staring at the one picture of her daughter that she keeps hidden in the bottom of a drawer. Mercedes had taken it in the hospital and given it to Quinn, thinking that it was a good thing, but it's mostly a form of self-flagellation. Quinn tries to imagine what her life would be like if she'd kept her baby. For one short second, she sees herself happily holding her baby girl while her mother smiles proudly at having such a beautiful granddaughter. The perfect picture shatters immediately when she envisions the wine glass in her mother's hand. She can't even imagine Puck in the picture at all, even though she tries her best to insert him—because he is Beth's father and Quinn knows she can't just erase him. Reality settles back in and she sees herself run ragged, exhausted and in tears because the baby won't stop crying and Judy barely tolerating the chaos and on the verge of kicking them both out. She sees Puck swearing he'll take Beth for the night so Quinn can study for finals but canceling out for a chance to bed his latest floozy. She sees herself stuck in Lima—a single mom with a dead-end job at the local Wal-Mart and dating losers who just leave her the minute they find out she has a kid.

She knows that she still isn't ready or able to take care of her daughter, but that doesn't stop her from wishing that she was, and it sure as hell doesn't stop her from thinking that she made a mistake trusting Shelby Corcoran with the most precious person in her life.

xx

Quinn tries to pretend she still doesn't give a fuck when she shows up at school the next day, but it gets more difficult to bury her emotions every time she tries, and she's not sure she can control them anymore. She goes along with Coach Sylvester's crazy campaign, and it actually feels good to vent some of her frustration on Mr. Schuester, but when he tells her she doesn't care about anybody but herself, she loses it. She doesn't need him telling her to grow up. She's been forced to grow up too fucking fast. She never had the chance to be a normal kid. Quinn wants to believe that Beth will have the chance she never did, and she almost manages to make it happen until Puck barges into the girls' bathroom and demands that she get her act together.

"I saw Beth.²" Quinn is blindsided for the second (or maybe third) time in two days. She plays it off the best she can, but Puckerman keeps pushing. "She's perfect. She looks just like you. Well, the old you,²" and Quinn wants to ask which old her he means because by now there have been so many.

"Yeah, well it doesn't matter. We're not parent material.²"

"We can be,²" he insists, but she's heard it all before.

"We're never going to be together.²"

"I don't care about you, I care about her," and Quinn believes him, because after all, no one has ever really cared about Quinn. "I don't want her having questions or being messed up. She needs you in her life.²"

Quinn doesn't know how to respond, because what he's saying cuts right to the heart of Quinn's biggest fear. The one she's left unvoiced until now. The one that's all wrapped up in her own fucked-up childhood and not knowing who she is even though she knows exactly who she comes from or why she's not worthy of being loved. She doesn't want that for Beth. She doesn't want to live the scene she watched Rachel live with Shelby or to ever have her daughter ask her what was so wrong with her that her own mother didn't want her.

And goddamn, how far has she really fallen if Noah Puckerman is proving to be the more responsible one of them?

xx

Quinn can't get Puck's words out of her head, and she can't stop thinking about Beth, so against her better judgment, she seeks out Shelby again. She's so tired of running. As much as she isn't Lucy anymore and as much as she isn't the head cheerio or the prom queen, she knows deep down that she isn't this punk that she's been pretending to be either. The only thing she's sure of is that she's Beth's mother, and maybe if she finally accepts that, the rest will fall into place.

She finds Shelby in the midst of a singing lesson with the owner of the most God-awful voice she's ever heard. Quinn can hear Shelby's frustration bleeding through, and she has to give the woman credit, because anyone else would have slapped the girl down awhile ago.

"She's hopeless, you know.²"

Shelby smiles at her. "Nobody's hopeless," and Quinn knows they aren't talking about Sugar. "What happened to you, Quinn?²"

She can't suppress the reflexive eye roll. Why is everyone always so obsessed with the way she looks? Why won't anyone ever look beneath the image she projects and find anything of value in her? Even as she asks, she knows there is one person who has done that in the past, but their relationship is too complicated for Quinn to understand, and she just doesn't have the energy to try right now.

It isn't helping that Shelby is trying to bond with her by sharing her own experience after giving up Rachel. All Quinn can think about is Rachel's dejected face in the auditorium a few days ago and the fact that Shelby is putting in more effort to reach out to Quinn than she did with her own daughter.

"Eventually, I realized that, no matter how much it hurt me, I did right by my daughter,²" Shelby tells her pointedly, and Quinn feels sick because she doesn't feel that way at all—not about herself with Beth and not about Shelby with Rachel. Nothing about any of this feels right. "That's the real measure of motherhood. How much of yourself will you give up for them? King Solomon and all that.²"

Quinn has given up every part of herself, too many times. "I'm not going back to being that girl. Little miss blonde, perfect...²"

Shelby cuts her off with a self-satisfied smirk. "Quinn, were you ever really that girl? I mean, would that kind of girl ever even get pregnant in the first place?²" And Quinn wants to tell Shelby to go to hell, because she doesn't know anything about her pregnancy or how it happened or what kind of a person Quinn was before Puck convinced her to trust him. "Do you seriously expect me to think that this is the real you?²"

Quinn is still struggling to understand what the fuck Shelby is trying to prove, so she mumbles an unconvincing, "Yeah, sure. Something like this…²"

But the self-righteous advice just keeps coming. "This is the time you should find yourself. First step to becoming an adult; stop punishing yourself for things you did when you were a child.²"

Things like getting pregnant?

Things like giving her baby up to this woman?

"Can I see her? I know Puck got to.²"

Shelby shakes her head. "Not yet." And it burns. For all her talk, Shelby is just another person telling her to grow up—telling her to get over this little phase and go back to being the Quinn that makes everyone else happy. The good, upstanding, straight-A student that's actually worthy of Shelby's pity and being allowed to meet her own fucking daughter. Quinn barely manages to push down her anger, because she knows that it will only make Shelby dig her heels in harder, but she can't push down the desperation that pulled her into this room to begin with.

"How about a photo? Please,²" she begs brokenly, and her heart stops when Shelby hands over her phone, because this…this is her daughter. Her baby. Her Beth.

"You wanna know who you really are? Look at that sweet, special little face. She looks just like you," and oh, God, she does. Quinn's eyes desperately trace her little girl's beautiful face, and she feels her heart swelling with a love she's never known. "You can be a part of this family too, Quinn. I really want you to be. It's all up to you.²"

Shelby leaves her there, staring at that photo of Puck holding their little girl, and Quinn's world falls to pieces around her. This could have been hers. Beth, and even Puck, if she'd wanted him. It hurts so fucking much, knowing that she had the chance to have something so precious, so amazing and beautiful in her life, and she'd just thrown it away. Beth is the one right thing she's ever done.

Beth is hers—her family. Not Shelby's.

Rachel is Shelby's family.

Beth is Quinn's.

She has to make this right.

xx

Shelby allowed her to print the photo of Beth and Puck from her phone, and Quinn spends the evening staring it. This time, when she imagines keeping her daughter, it's shockingly easy. Puck looks so natural holding Beth, and Quinn knows she's been unfair to him. He'd be a good dad. Yeah, his pool-cleaning business isn't much, but he's kept it going for four years. He can be responsible when he needs to be—she just needs to forget about his habit of bedding the women who hire him.

And it's not like Quinn is really planning on college anymore. She doesn't have the money, and neither does Judy since the divorce. Maybe if she sucks up to Russell and pretends to forgive him, she might bleed some funding from him, but why even bother? Her father's monetary support has always had strings attached, and she doesn't want to go to Northwestern and study business like he did. He'd never let her go to New York or Los Angeles.

Quinn has never gotten any of the things she's really wanted. For the first time, she's realizing that she's been wanting the wrong thing.

She dyes her hair back to sunshine blonde that night. The black mini-skirts and torn tees are shoved into the bottom of her dresser and the sundresses brought out, front and center, in her closet. She takes out the nose-ring and throws away every pack of cigarettes.

Judy is thrilled.

Quinn makes a quick detour to the bleachers the next morning to let the skanks know that she's done. Mack gives her a disdainful once-over, growling, "Fuck, Fabray. I thought you were cooler than this."

"I don't have to answer to you…any of you," she points out with a wave to Ronnie and Sheila, "but you let me hang with you when I needed to, and you never asked any questions, and I'm grateful for that. I just need to get back something I lost, and this is the only way I can do it."

Mack stares her down with an unwavering gaze for a long minute before she finally nods. "Whatever. It's been real." She leans back against the post and lights up another cigarette, but as Quinn turns to leave, Mack calls out, "Good luck," and Quinn knows that underneath the tough image, Mack really does understand.

Quinn sits in homeroom for only the second time this year, and she's bored out of her mind. She takes to doodling in her notebook as she runs over her plans. She sees Rachel in her first class and receives a genuinely happy smile from the girl. Sighing, she slides into the seat next to Rachel and pre-empts the questions she knows is coming. "I'm ready," she tells Rachel simply, smiling serenely at the truth in those words.

"Oh, Quinn, I'm so glad. I…we really have missed you." A few moments of silence pass before Rachel turns slightly in her chair. "You know, you didn't need to…well...go to such extremes to come back to glee club. We'll accept you, no matter what clothes you choose to wear or what color your hair is. Although I must confess, I do prefer you as a blonde." Rachel drops her gaze and blushes slightly, and Quinn's breath catches just a bit, because once again, Rachel is cutting through the bullshit and accepting her in a way that no one else does. Quinn doesn't understand why this keeps happening.

"I didn't do it for glee club," she mutters.

"Oh, of course," Rachel whispers. "Noah told me about…well, I'm happy for you, Quinn. I'm glad Shelby is giving you both the chance to be involved in Beth's life."

"What about you? Is Shelby giving you a chance to be part of her family too?" she demands. She's sorry the moment she asks because the bite in her voice and the way Rachel flinches makes Quinn feel like a bitch.

Rachel's voice is small and timid when she says, "It's complicated," and Quinn hates it. She hates seeing Rachel cower, especially since she's not certain if she's the cause or Shelby is.

"It shouldn't be."

She and Rachel don't talk for the rest of the day. Quinn is actually relieved when she crashes Schuester's booty camp and doesn't see Rachel in attendance. Despite their awkward moment earlier, she knows Rachel would be the first to advocate her return, and she doesn't want anyone to speak for her. Quinn wants to know if the others will welcome her back now that she's all sweet and wholesome again. They do. Mercedes even hugs her, as if she hadn't avoided Quinn like the plague for three weeks and gossiped about her behind her back. They're all such hypocrites.

Puck looks over at her with a smile and tells her, "I'm proud of you.²"

Quinn wants to laugh at how pathetic he's being for buying into the act she's selling, just like everyone else. She looks him over and contemplates leaving him in the dark, but she's going to need him if she wants her plan to work.

"I have to get her back. If that takes dying my hair blonde and pretending that I think I'm special, that's something I'm willing to do. We're going to get full custody,²" she promises him with a satisfied smile, because for the first time in two years, she's doing something that feels right. Something she wants for herself. Maybe she hasn't worked out all the details yet, but it doesn't matter.

Quinn is finally going to have one person in her life who loves her unconditionally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¹Glee, 3:01, The Purple Piano Project  
> ²Glee, 3:02, I Am Unicorn


	2. Detonation

**Part II: Detonation**

* * *

Quinn's big plan for getting custody of Beth takes a little while to get off the ground. For one thing, Puck looks at her like she's lost her mind. He has the nerve to tell her that Shelby is a good mom and they should be happy that she's willing to let them get to know their daughter.

"You're the one who wanted to keep her," Quinn screams at him, completely frustrated. "You begged and pleaded and swore what a good dad you'd be. You even insisted on naming her. And now, when I'm practically handing you the thing you claim to want most, you're saying no?"

Puck runs a hand over his Mohawk, shaking his head. "We signed papers, Quinn. And yeah, we could have changed our minds, like, a year ago or something, but it's too late now."

She slams her fist down on the hood of his truck. "It's not too late!" He checks absently for a dent in the metal, and she wishes she'd punched him instead. "She's ours, Puck. Shelby doesn't deserve to raise her."

"Look, you haven't even seen her in person yet. Shelby's really great with her, and Beth's such a happy baby. Yeah, I think she needs us in her life, but I don't know... I mean, Shelby is…"

"Shelby is a bitch," she interjects harshly. "She took advantage of us at our weakest moment. Showing up at the hospital like that? She manipulated us to get what she wanted!" Quinn knows it isn't entirely true, but the more she thinks about that day, the more wrong it feels that Shelby was even at the hospital at all. "And do you even know what she did to Rachel? Do you even care? I mean, you're always saying how much you supposedly care about Rachel, and Shelby is the person who's hurt her most. She rejected her own daughter," she stresses, desperate to make him understand, "then she replaced her with ours. We can't let her ever do something like that to Beth, Puck."

Quinn watches Puck's mouth thin into a frown and his eyes flash with anger, and she knows that she has him. Now it's just a matter time and carefully planned circumstances until Beth is back in her arms for good.

The second obstacle is Shelby Corcoran. Despite her image makeover, Shelby is still frustratingly hesitant to let her actually see Beth. Quinn knows the woman is checking up on her, making sure she's attending all her classes and glee club meetings and that she's steering clear of the skanks and the bad habits she picked up. Quinn hates every minute of being under Shelby's microscope, but she's gotten so good at faking it over the years that her smile never once slips. Shelby has no choice but to promise her a visit next weekend, and Quinn's stomach somersaults with anticipation.

In the meantime, she entertains herself by auditioning for the school musical. She doesn't figure she'll get anything other than Girl # 3 in the chorus, and it's good enough. Rachel is a lock for Maria, and Santana is perfect for Anita, and Quinn knows they'll both be amazing.

Except Mercedes and Rachel both get a callback, and Quinn finds herself sitting in the auditorium watching yet another diva-off. It was fun the first time, but now it's just getting repetitive. She has to wonder what the hell these people are even thinking, because as much as she respects Mercedes's talent, she's not right for Maria. Have any of the directors even seen West Side Story? Did they hear Rachel sing I Feel Pretty last year? Granted it was a mash-up, but it was amazing.

Mercedes does a good job with the song, as she always does.

But Rachel—

Rachel makes Quinn feel it. The song echoes too closely to her recent (or maybe not so recent) emotional state anyway, and she ends up holding back tears by the end of Rachel's performance. Thank God no one notices. She thinks that Rachel's ability to evoke that kind of response is the real difference between her and Mercedes—that indescribable quality that Rachel possesses that just wraps you up in her voice, drags you inside her soul, and won't let you go until the last note fades.

Quinn figures it's an easy victory, but Rachel isn't looking as confident as she normally does. It isn't until much later that Quinn hears about the drama over the role, and even though she witnessed Mercedes throw a diva-tantrum and a storm-out that far surpassed anything Rachel ever put them through, she still can't believe that Mercedes refused to share the part with Rachel. Personally, Quinn can't believe sharing was even an option to begin with, because in her mind, Rachel is clearly the superior choice. She remembers their short stint with Rocky Horror, and vocal talent being equal (which it really isn't), Rachel still trumped Mercedes in acting ability and taking direction.

Or maybe Quinn is biased towards Rachel for the very first time, simply because Rachel keeps reaching out to her when no one else does. Maybe Rachel deserves to have the favor returned and receive a little support from Quinn for a change.

So she hangs around the bulletin board as everyone lines up to check the posted cast list for West Side Story. She's genuinely happy for Mike. He's probably the most decent guy in the school, and he deserves a little recognition. She's happy for Santana too, even though their so-called friendship isn't much more than a series of calculated power plays and a few semi-kind words every so often. She wants to be happy for Rachel, but Rachel looks so unhappy that Quinn isn't certain how to approach her. She ends up staying silent and walking away with Puck in tow, but she casts a furtive glance over her shoulder to see Rachel still looking forlornly at the list—her boyfriend nowhere in sight.

An hour later, they play out a variation on the scene from the first week of school. Quinn is leaning against the building, fingers twitching with the memory of a cigarette that isn't there and chewing a stick of spearmint gum to help curb her fading addiction. This time, when Rachel walks past her, Quinn calls her name out first, and Rachel turns with only a hint of surprise.

"Still lurking around corners, I see," Rachel half-heartedly jokes.

Quinn notices the red-rimmed eyes and the kicked-puppy expression, and she frowns. "Don't let her ruin this for you, Rachel. You deserve that part."

Rachel's confusion is clear. Quinn's never been nice to her without having ulterior motives. Even things that seemed kind on the surface, like testing Finn's loyalty last year or going with her to the plastic surgeon, had potential benefits to Quinn. If Finn had failed that test, Quinn would have gotten him back right then and there, not that it would have mattered in the long run. Last year proved that Finn would always go back to Rachel in the end. And if Rachel had gone through with the nose-job—well, then Quinn would have felt so much better about her own surgery. She wouldn't have to feel so constantly envious of Rachel and her seemingly abundant confidence, because Rachel would have proven that she really wasn't any better or any stronger than Quinn.

There's always been something in it for her, but there isn't this time, and Rachel seems to know it. "She…Mercedes deserved it too," Rachel quietly insists. "Her audition was better."

"No, it wasn't," Quinn leaves no room for argument, "and don't even try to tell me that you think her voice would have suited any of Maria's songs. I may not know a lot about musical theater, but I have seen the movie version of West Side Story, and even I know that Artie and Brad would have had to rework the entire score to fit her vocal range."

Rachel chews on her lip for a second before she slowly nods."That is true. My voice is far better suited to the demands of the role."

Quinn smirks, because that's more like it. The Rachel she knows doesn't question her talent. "Exactly. So stop with the annoying pity-party and start bothering your directors with helpful suggestions on how to best utilize your star potential."

Rachel is smiling now, her eyes sparkling with growing excitement, and Quinn gets a little breathless from the knowledge that she's finally managed to set Rachel on the right path without being a complete bitch to her. It's a nice change from last year.

"You're absolutely right, Quinn. Artie is a decent filmmaker, but he knows next to nothing about stage production, and Coach Beiste and Ms. Pillsbury are complete novices. They need my expertise if we're to have any hope of a successful endeavor." She hesitates for just a second, her smile turning a little uncertain as she looks at Quinn. "Th-thank you, Quinn." She gives a shy nod of gratitude. "I really am glad you came back to the club."

Quinn watches as Rachel turns and walks to her car with a bounce in her step. She imagines that Rachel's mind is spinning with the possibilities that she wasn't allowing herself to think about just ten minutes ago. Quinn's mind is spinning with possibilities too, because she feels good about herself for the first time in a long time. She's not just some selfish bitch who never thinks about anyone else. She can be a grown up.

xx

The moment Quinn sees Beth for the first time, all thoughts of her plan to regain custody fade into the background. She isn't plotting or scheming or even hating on Shelby. She isn't thinking of anything except her daughter and the absolute ache in her soul to hold that little body in her arms again. Two years worth of suppression and denial are completely obliterated in a single second.

Quinn's hands are shaking—hell, her entire body is—as Shelby carefully transfers the weight of her daughter into Quinn's eager embrace. Her heart is beating so fast, and it's hard to even breathe, but—oh, that baby smell assaults her senses, and she feels like she might actually pass out. Quinn has to sink down onto the couch behind her to keep her bearings, and Beth's little body curves into hers, and it feels so amazing. So right.

She's vaguely aware of Shelby smiling wistfully down at her and Puck grinning from ear to ear beside her as he watches them together, but she honestly can't be bothered with either of them right now. Her whole world is Beth. She brushes the tips of her trembling fingers over the soft, blonde curls of her daughter's head before tracing them gently over the incredibly smooth skin of her cheek and the little button nose that must have come from Puck or maybe from Judy. Serious hazel eyes stare up into her own, regarding her with a tiny, arched brow, and Quinn laughs joyfully because she sees herself in this face. And thank God, she doesn't see Lucy. She knows—of course, she knows—that Beth's hair will probably eventually darken to Quinn's natural dirty blonde shade or maybe Puck's darker locks, and maybe she'll need braces or glasses one day, but those eyes—

Quinn falls even more in love with her daughter.

Later, when she looks around Shelby's home, she sees all the photos of Beth and the children's books and cds and the baby blankets and stuffed toys and every other little sign that proves Beth is well-cared for and in want of nothing. She watches Shelby interact so lovingly with Beth, feeding her and changing her and singing her a lullaby with a voice that rivals Rachel's for emotional impact, but it doesn't move Quinn. Her mind is made up. She's getting her daughter back.

xx

The next week is spent earning Shelby's trust. A few hours spent after school isn't nearly enough, but Quinn stays focused on her goal. Her daughter is beautiful and amazing and so smart, and she's getting more comfortable being held by Quinn with every visit, and Quinn is getting more comfortable thinking of herself as a mom.

Quinn hasn't told her own mother (or by extension, her father) about any of this yet. She's waiting for the right time, when she's far enough into Beth's life to make her first real move at getting custody. She's not completely certain how Judy will react, but she's prepared for the worst—even if she can't stop hoping for the best. Judy didn't kick her out during her skank phase (because guilt is a wonderful bargaining chip), so it's not completely outside the realm of possibility that she'll support Quinn and Beth, at least until graduation.

Getting through her classes is excruciating when all she wants is for the day to be over so she can get to Beth. Rehearsals are starting for West Side Story, and Quinn would skip them in a heartbeat for more time with her daughter, except that Shelby's tied up with her little rival glee club which now has Mercedes as a member. When Santana jumps ship too, taking Brittany and riling up Rachel, who is feeling personally attacked by her so-called friends and her mother, Quinn finds yet another reason to want to hurt Shelby Corcoran.

"What are you doing?³" Puck asks, horrified. They're alone with their daughter for the very first time, babysitting for Shelby, who has some meeting or something with that Motta guy who hired her. Puck is currently bouncing the baby in his arms and looking at Quinn like she's insane. She hates that look.

"Framing Shelby as an unfit mother,³" she tells him calmly, picking up the hot sauce she's labeled with Beth's name and mixing it into the formula. Puck's face hardens, and he hugs Beth protectively to his chest. Jesus, it's not like she's actually planning to give the damn bottle to Beth. She's just going to…to spike the baby food and de-baby-proof the apartment a little and…and take a few pictures on her phone and…call protective services or…or…shit…

Puck has carefully set Beth down in her playpen and he's stalking back over to Quinn, ripping the bottle out of her hands and slamming it into the trash can along with the contaminated formula. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"We agreed…"

"No! I didn't agree to this, Quinn. You said we should try and get custody of Beth, but you didn't say you were going to pull this crazy shit."

Beth starts to cry from her playpen, thanks to their raised voices, and Puck glances back at her with regret. Quinn tries to lower her voice, but she's no less adamant. "How did you think we were going to get her back, Puck? We can't afford to hire a lawyer. This is the easiest way."

"Like giving her up when I wanted to keep her was the easy way?" he accuses harshly, and Quinn feels it like a physical blow. "No fucking thank you," he growls, turning back to Beth, who's unhappy wails are growing in volume.

Quinn grabs his arm and jerks him back. "You are not bailing on me, Puckerman. We are doing this! Don't grow a fucking conscience on me now."

"This isn't right, Quinn."

"I don't care," she screams, and Beth echoes her. Quinn's head is pounding and she can barely hear herself think. "God, just shut up!" she yells at the baby, eliciting another shrill scream from her frightened daughter. Quinn's entire body goes rigid in realization, and her blood runs cold. Puck pries her hand off his arm in disgust.

"Nice, Quinn," he kneels down next to Beth and gathers her up in his arms, murmuring low, soothing words of comfort.

Quinn can only stare at them, ears buzzing and breath coming in shallow pants. Her hands are shaking, and she's sweating, and her legs feel unsteady beneath her. The room is shrinking around her, and she has to get out or she's going to be sick.

So she runs.

The air is cool and damp, and it should be helping, but it isn't, and damn it—she can't see where she's going through her tears. Her feet are clumsy on the ground and she trips and skids onto the pavement, scraping her knees and her hands. The pain doesn't even register because she's retching up bile and struggling to catch her breath between her body's violent spasms.

xx

She tells herself it was stress.

Exhaustion.

A reaction to Puck.

An aberration.

Deep down, she knows better. Quinn remembers prom and slapping Rachel in the heat of the moment. She remembers losing it at Nationals and raging at Santana and Brittany. She's never learned to deal with her emotions, and she doesn't trust herself with them now. She wants her daughter back so badly, but she never wants to hurt Beth.

Quinn hasn't planned this out well. She never plans anything well. Getting Beth away from Shelby is only a small piece of the puzzle. She has to petition for custody and prove that she's a fit mother—that she can support her daughter—and she can't. She's barely eighteen, still in high school with no job and no income, on her mother's insurance and still dependent on Judy for her own food and clothes and—

She needs to talk to her mom. She needs help.

She's just about convinced herself to tell her mom everything and beg for advice on what she should do, but Judy isn't there when she gets home, probably out seeing Russell again. Quinn robotically makes her way up the stairs and strips off her soiled dress before stepping into the shower. She cleans her cuts and rinses away the grime, but she doesn't feel clean.

When she's done and dry, her phone is beeping a text message from Puck. We need 2 talk.

She doesn't answer. Two hours later, he shows up on her doorstep anyway.

"I don't want to talk to you," she tells him hoarsely, clutching at the doorframe and praying he'll just go away. She hates the fact that her voice is already clouded with tears.

"Too bad," he powers his way past her, and Quinn closes the door and leans against it, doing her best to stare him down.

"Did you rat me out to Shelby? Throw me under the bus to make yourself look like a hero?" And God help her, but a small, masochistic part of her hopes that he did.

"No. I told her you had to leave 'cause you were feeling sick. Lady problems," he supplies with shrug.

She puffs out a humorless laugh. "Thanks."

"Look, I want to be Beth's dad more than anything, and I know you want to be her mom, but Shelby's been good to her. She's taken care of Beth and loved her for a year and a half when we couldn't, and it isn't fair for us to screw her over this way."

"Like she screwed Rachel over?"

Puck throws up his hands. "She's trying to make things right with Rachel...and with us, Quinn."

"Fine," she barks, crossing her arms under her breasts and channeling all her hurt into familiar anger. "You're obviously stuck on your little Shelby love-fest, so you want out? You're out. Do whatever you want. Just like you always have."

He shakes his head, and disappointment colors his face. "You're still going after her, aren't you?"

"That's the plan."

Puck spins around in a jerky movement and paces around in front of the stairway. He heaves out a sigh and faces her, opening his mouth once, twice, before finally rushing out, "I kissed her."

Quinn doesn't think she's processing his words correctly. "What?"

"I kissed Shelby," he confesses, averting his eyes and rubbing his hand over his Mohawk in agitation. He starts to ramble out an explanation without pausing for breath. "We were talking about Beth, and everything she's doing, and how hard it is, and things got intense for a minute, and I kissed her."

Quinn feels her stomach turn with revulsion, just thinking about the implications.

Puck. Kissed. Rachel's. Mother.

Puck kissed their daughter's adoptive mom. It's so disgustingly incestuous that Quinn honestly thinks she might vomit. Again. "Oh, my God," she breathes.

"She didn't kiss me back. Well, she did for like ten seconds, but then she shot me down," he tells her, like that makes it somehow better.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asks in a flat voice. "You know I can use this against her...improper conduct with a student. I can get her fired. She'll be unemployed and probably lose her teaching certificate, Her reputation will be destroyed and she'll look like a cheap floozy, unfit to raise a child," she finishes quietly, realizing that this is exactly what she wants, and Puck is handing it to her on a silver platter. "We can get custody with this."

"I know." But he doesn't exactly look happy about it, or particularly proud of himself.

"You don't want me to do it though." Another realization settles over her. "You care about Shelby."

"Yeah, I do, but I'd be lying if I said there isn't a part of me that wants you to do whatever it takes to get Beth back." He shakes his head in (self)disgust. "I'm not totally on board with setting Shelby up, but I'm kind of stuck here, Quinn. If I tell her what we were up to, she's gonna freak out and never let us near Beth again. And if I don't tell her, then I have no way to really stop you from doing whatever you're planning to do. I guess I'd rather you go after Shelby for being a single mom who likes macking with younger guys than frame her as hurting Beth when she hasn't ever done that. I mean, at least this wouldn't be a total lie, right?"

"Yeah, it would be," she admits. Puck obviously has some weird crush on Shelby, but if he's telling the truth about her stopping him, then spinning it to their own purpose is still playing dirty. "But that's all I seem to know how to do."

Puck stares at her for long minute, like he's searching for something particular, and she feels unnerved, so she drops her gaze. His eyes soften. "Look, I know we both want to be Beth's parents, but maybe…"

He doesn't finish the thought, but Quinn knows what he means to say from the careful tone of his voice. "Just say it."

He steps closer, leaning a hand against the door beside her head and speaking so gently, like he's afraid she'll fall apart. "Maybe giving her to Shelby really was the right thing, Quinn. I mean, she's happy…"

"Stop. Just stop," she begs.

"Quinn…"

"No. I can't…I can't talk about this anymore. Not now." And he backs off, stepping out of her personal space. Quinn spins around and twists the doorknob, jerking it open and staring out into the night. "Can you just go? Please?"

She's grateful when Puck silently slides past her, and she watches him disappear down the walkway before she finally closes the door and rests her forehead against the cool wood. She wishes she could shut out her own confusion as easily.

xx

Quinn wakes up the next morning feeling horrible. What little sleep she managed was constantly interrupted with nightmares of crying babies, broken bottles, and policemen dragging her away while Shelby taunted her with never seeing Beth again. No matter what decision she makes, she knows losing access to her daughter completely is not something she can accept.

She hates knowing that Puck was right. Putting hot sauce in the baby formula was stupid. Framing Shelby is a gamble that Quinn can't afford to lose. But Puck, bless his cougar-loving heart, has dropped a much better strategy right into her lap. She just has to decide if she's going to use it.

Quinn knows she was way out of line last night. Losing her temper in front of Beth was so, so wrong. She'd panicked, that's all. She's not going to be a crazy shrew once she has Beth to take care of. She's not. But she knows she wasn't wrong about needing help. She has to tell her mom what's going on—no, not the lying and scheming part—but that she's been visiting Beth, that she made a mistake giving her up, and that she feels like Shelby took advantage of the fact that she was all alone and homeless—even if Judy had asked her to come home just hours before.

She sees her mother in the morning, but she only has an hour before her first class starts, and she's already running late and can't afford to skip after all the classes she ditched at the start of the year. The conversation they have to have won't be easy or quick, so she doesn't mention Beth, but she does tell Judy that she needs to talk to her after school. Her mother nods, and Quinn does her best to ignore the guarded wariness in those blue-gray eyes.

She sleepwalks through most of her day. Every time she passes Puck in the hallway, she averts her eyes. She's not ready to deal with his crisis of conscience, and she's valiantly ignoring her own.

Quinn is tired and stressed, and she's craving a damn cigarette that she can't smoke, so she bypasses the cafeteria when lunch rolls around and wanders out to the bleachers. She goes up top instead of down under, because if she sees the skanks right now she just might say fuck it all and light up again, and she's paranoid enough to imagine that Shelby has spies watching her. So it freaks her out more than a little when Rachel Berry appears at the bottom of the bleachers with concerned eyes and starts to climb the stairs.

"Quinn, are you okay?" she asks after sliding onto the bench beside Quinn.

She sighs. "I'm fine. What are you doing here?"

Rachel licks her lips nervously, and the action draws Quinn's attention. "I…I saw you walking towards the bleachers, and I was concerned you may be falling back on destructive habits."

The prickle of disappointment is unexpected. "So much for accepting me no matter what, huh?"

"Actually, I was referring to the smoking. Not only is it detrimental to your health, Quinn, but it will damage your voice beyond repair, and while I admit that Santana's raspy tones are not entirely unpleasant, I rather prefer your…"

"Tremulous alto?" Quinn finishes with a teasing smirk, and Rachel smiles back shyly. "Even though I'm occasionally sharp?"

"You've actually improved on that so much in the last two years. Just imagine what you could have accomplished had you allowed me to give you lessons."

Quinn laughs. "Probably first degree murder." Her tone, for once, isn't hostile, so Rachel chuckles in response before she turns her gaze to the empty football field. They sit quietly for a couple of minutes, and Quinn's a little surprised how comfortable it all is. Well, until Rachel decides to talk again.

"How did it go last night?"

"Last night?" Quinn echoes stupidly.

Rachel blushes a ducks her head. "With Beth. Noah mentioned yesterday that you were babysitting for the first time."

"It was," a complete failure that left Quinn feeling like a horrible monster, "good."

Rachel frowns at the obvious disconnect between Quinn's words and her mood, but she doesn't question it. "I'm so glad that you and Noah are getting this chance to make a connection with Beth. She needs you both in her life so she'll always know where she comes from and that she's loved." There's such conviction in her voice, and Quinn understands that Rachel is speaking from her own experience with Shelby. It pushes Quinn further into the camp of pursuing custody. "She's such a beautiful baby," Rachel says with a grin.

Quinn immediately melts at the compliment to her daughter. "You've seen her?"

"Shelby showed me a picture," Rachel shrugs. "We haven't quite progressed to personal visits outside of school yet."

"Oh." Quinn is unaccountably peeved at the admission. She and Puck have been welcomed into Shelby's home—without supervision now—and Rachel is still being kept out. It doesn't seem fair.

"We're…taking things slowly," Rachel defends.

"How can you forgive her so easily?" Quinn asks, harsher than she intends. "I mean, she basically walked in and out of your life like it meant nothing." Quinn just doesn't understand. She's sick at the very idea that Beth might end up hating her someday when she finds out that her mother abandoned her, and Quinn at least has the excuse of having been only sixteen at the time. Shelby was old enough to have a choice—both times.

Rachel's wide, brown eyes shimmer with hurt. "That isn't true," she whispers, and Quinn can tell that they're just words, and that Rachel doesn't really believe in them.

"Isn't it?" she pushes. Quinn knows that she should just shut her mouth and back off, but she never has been able to do that when it comes to Rachel. "It killed me to give up my daughter, Rachel, and now that I have a second chance, I will never walk away from her again. Did Shelby even try to contact you at all in the last year?"

Rachel's fingers tighten around the edge of the bench until the knuckles show white beneath her tan. "She's still my mom, Quinn."

Quinn snaps, quite literally. "No, she isn't! She's just the woman who gave birth to you," and she's nearly as shocked by her own words as Rachel, whose pain quickly morphs into righteous indignation.

"I can't believe you would say that." She waved an accusatory finger in Quinn's face. "You, of all people, have to know how…how hypocritical you're being right now."

The tiny, still rational part of Quinn's mind knows it's true, but that part isn't in control and hasn't been for awhile now. "I'm nothing like Shelby Corcoran," she growls. "I made a mistake giving up Beth, but I'm going to get her back."

Rachel's posture stiffens and her eyes get impossibly wider. "What do you mean, you're going to get her back?"

Quinn tilts her chin up and meets Rachel's confused gaze head on. "Exactly what you think I mean, Rachel. I'm going to petition for custody of my daughter."

The other girl's brows draw together, and she shakes her head slightly. "I-is that even possible? I mean, y-you signed papers."

"I don't care. I'm her mom. She belongs with me."

Rachel stares at her for a full minute, and Quinn's entire body begins to coil with tension. She's watching the play of emotions on Rachel's face, every expression advertising her thoughts like a billboard. First, disbelief that Quinn is actually serious and then the stunned realization that she is which fades into concern for what that means and then bleeds into sympathy—and God, if Quinn sees pity next she may just slap her again. To her credit, Rachel eventually manages to school her features. "I'm assuming that Shelby isn't aware of your intentions."

"She will be soon enough." Quinn doesn't look at Rachel when she says it, but she can feel the girl's eyes burning into the side of her face. "God, I can actually feel you judging me."

"I'm not. I…I'm just…"

"What?"

Rachel angles her body on the bench until their knees brush together, and Quinn inches her leg away from the contact. "I don't pretend to know what you're feeling, Quinn. If you really believe that this is the right decision, f-for Beth," she stutters timidly, "then you should do whatever you feel you have to do."

Quinn arches an eyebrow and regards Rachel evenly. "Wow, who knew you had it in you to be all politically correct?" she comments dryly, all the while watching Rachel's face color and her eyes dart down in uncertainty. She used to get off on making Rachel squirm this way, but lately, it just makes her hate herself even more. "Now tell me what you really think," she demands.

"It isn't my place."

"I'm asking you, Rachel." She's not certain why she wants to know what Rachel is thinking. Maybe she hopes Rachel will take her side over Shelby's, even offer to help her get Beth. Or maybe—maybe Rachel's opinion actually means something to her. "You've never pulled any punches with me," she says, and Rachel seems to understand that it's Quinn's way of granting her permission to speak her mind.

"I think you're hurting. I think you have been since you let Shelby adopt Beth," and Quinn almost snaps at her, because no fucking shit she's hurting, but she asked for this, "and now you have this amazing opportunity to have her back in your life, a-and you feel like…like it will finally make everything alright again and you won't feel like this huge piece of you is missing anymore." And suddenly, Rachel's words feel more like a confession than an observation. Her eyes are far away and glistening, and Quinn wipes at her own, because damn it, Rachel isn't wrong—at all. "And maybe you're right. Maybe you and Noah being able to raise Beth is what's best for her…for all of you."

Quinn swallows down the lump in her throat. "But?"

Rachel's shoulders rise and fall with the breath she takes, and she looks out to the field again before she starts to speak. "From a purely emotional, admittedly selfish, perspective, I really do understand the desire to…to have that mother-daughter connection," she confesses softly, "but as much as I wanted to know my mother...to know who she is and what's she's like and if I…I'm anything like her, I can't even imagine how I would have felt if she'd come back and tried to take me away from my dads." Rachel turns to meet Quinn's eyes, and her voice is sure and unwavering when she says, "They're my parents, Quinn, and I love them. Yes, I can't help wishing that Shelby had at least wanted to…to try…to get to know me a-and be a part of my life," and God, this hurts, because all of that certainty is gone in the blink of an eye and Rachel's voice is suddenly so small and broken, and Jesus, it's as close as Quinn has ever seen Rachel to admitting that Shelby hurt her, and she never wants Beth to have to feel this way. Rachel drags in a stuttering breath and looks away. "But to completely disrupt the only family I've ever known? I don't think I'd be okay with that."

"But it's different," Quinn insists, because she doesn't ever want Beth to feel that way either. "Beth is still a baby. She won't even remember Shelby a year from now."

Rachel looks at her again, and her eyes soften at the sight of the tears that Quinn can feel slipping over her cheeks. "Maybe," Rachel concedes, laying a soft hand over Quinn's where it rests on the bench between them, "but, Quinn? Shelby isn't going to just give Beth back to you. She's been her mom for over a year now, loving her and providing for her. She's a successful woman with an excellent reputation and, I'm certain, a more than adequate income. Legally, Beth is her daughter. You and Noah are both still in high school, and aside from Noah's questionable tenure as a glorified pool boy, neither of you are financially capable of supporting a child at the moment."

Rachel's tone is gentle, but every word squeezes Quinn's heart tighter until she thinks it will stop beating altogether. "Look, I can't tell you what to do, but if you're serious about this, then you need to be prepared. You need to think about the future and how you and Noah are going to provide for Beth, and even then, Shelby will fight you," Rachel warns gently. "There's a reason Vocal Adrenaline was undefeated when they were under her direction. She knows how to win. A court battle could drag out for…for years, Quinn. And Beth will be stuck in the middle of it."

Quinn knows that Rachel is right. Nothing she's said is anything that Quinn hasn't already thought—it's exactly why she decided that playing dirty was her only option. If she can prove that Shelby is unfit, then…then…God… "So what? It's just hopeless? I…I should just give up on my daughter for the second time. Like she's nothing." Quinn's too broken to even be ashamed that she's openly crying in front of Rachel—again!—or clutching at her hand like it's some kind of lifeline.

"No. No, of course you don't give up on her," Rachel shifts a little closer on the bench, touching her arm lightly with her free hand and trying to offer whatever comfort she can, but their past interactions haven't exactly made it effortless. "You're her mother Quinn. You always will be. You're always going to be a part of her life, whether you have full custody or…or you visit her every chance you get." Quinn sobs harder, and her tears fall onto the fabric of her dress. Rachel whispers, "Oh, Quinn," and shifts around again until an arm is wrapped awkwardly around her shoulder, urging her to lean in, and Quinn drops her head onto Rachel's shoulder, and suddenly it doesn't feel awkward at all.

Quinn lets herself be held by Rachel and weeps until it feels like there's nothing left. When she finally regains her composure, she straightens and puts a little distance between them. Spilling her guts all over Rachel Berry actually made her feel…better. "Thank you," she whispers, "for…for being honest. For not just telling me I'm crazy for even thinking about getting my daughter back."

"You're not crazy," Rachel promises. "You just love her. She's lucky to have you, you know? No matter what you decide."

Quinn believes her. In the distance, they both hear the warning bell ring, and Rachel glances back at the school. "We should go," she says.

Quinn wipes her eyes and shakes her head in self-depreciation. "You go ahead. I don't think I'm quite up to dealing with other people just yet."

Rachel smiles encouragingly and nods, and Quinn watches her carefully make her way down the bleachers and back towards the building. She stays where she is, staring unseeingly into the distance and thinking about her future.

xx

Judy expects the worst. Quinn sees the suspicion in her mother's eyes and the nervous twist of her fingers. A glass of red wine is filled to the rim and sitting at the ready on the coffee table. She knows her mother is bracing to hear that she's pregnant again or on drugs or dating some forty-year old criminal or who knows what else? So when Quinn tells her that Shelby Corcoran is back in Lima with Beth, Judy deflates in relief. It doesn't last long.

"You…you've been seeing Beth?"

"Yeah." Quinn sits stiffly next to her mother, watching her twitch with discomfort.

"For how long?"

"A few weeks."

"Why am I just finding out about this now?" Judy demands, voice wavering between hurt and anger. Of course, it evokes a similar reaction from Quinn.

"Maybe because you've never bothered to even mention my baby since I gave birth to her."

Judy Fabray had skillfully ignored her daughter's obvious pregnancy for months and then let Russell kick Quinn out and never once reached out to her, not even to find out if she'd found a place to liv or was sleeping on some park bench. Since bringing Quinn home from the hospital, the baby subject has never once been broached until now—except for the day Quinn had come home from New York and had her emotional meltdown, and even then, she hadn't mentioned Beth. She'd just blamed Judy for abandoning her when she was pregnant.

"I was waiting for you to bring her up. You never did," Judy defends.

"Because it hurt too much!" Quinn yells, tears once again streaking over her cheeks. She thinks that she's probably cried more in the last month than she ever has in her life. "I…I've been so…twisted up inside. I needed you," she sobs, clutching at the hem of her dress until it's crumbled into a wrinkled mess in her fists. "I needed you to help me and you just…swept it all under the rug. Just like you always do."

"That's not fair, Quinnie. I was prepared to bring you both home from that hospital, but you decided to place her up for adoption. I thought you just wanted to move on with your life."

"She is my life! She's…my baby, and I…I love her," Quinn chokes out for the first time. Is it really the first time? She's felt it for so long, but she hasn't spoken the words out loud. She hasn't been able to. "I love her so much, and she's so perfect, and I…I should have never let her go."

Quinn looks at her mother, who is in tears now too, and she feels so lost. It hurts so much, loving someone this way. Like you'll die for them. Like their life, their happiness, is more important than your own. "I don't…I don't know what to do," she admits brokenly. "I don't know how to fix it. How do I fix it?" She's clutching at her mother's hand now, "P-please, Mom, tell me how to fix it."

Judy pulls her into her arms and hold her close. "Oh, Quinnie, honey," she whispers tearfully. "We'll…we'll figure it out. It will be okay."

It's not really an answer, but Quinn wants to believe her anyway. She lets her mother comfort her and calm her, and eventually they talk about Beth. Quinn shows her pictures and tells her everything about her daughter, and Judy wavers between looking heartbroken and completely smitten. She tells Quinn again that everything will be okay, but her mother has never been very strong, and she was never the one who made things happen. That was always Russell.

Quinn should have expected it really. Twenty-four hours later, her father is the one sitting on the couch when she comes home from school. She's done a damn fine job of avoiding him for months, despite the continuous visits and constant messages to her inbox that plead for another chance. She knows that she can't avoid him anymore.

"Your mother tells me that you want to try to regain custody of our granddaughter," he states calmly.

Quinn tries not to read too much into the fact that he's calling Beth his granddaughter instead of something cruel and dirty like your bastard child. "Yeah, I do," she confirms, crossing her arms and staring him down. She remains standing in hopes of keeping some advantage. "So, go ahead and prove how much you haven't changed by telling me what a disgrace I am and that I need to forget about getting my baby back so I don't tarnish the Fabray name anymore than I already have."

Russell sighs, and shakes his head sadly. "I made mistakes with you, Quinn. Terrible mistakes. You and your sister were my greatest accomplishments. I started making plans for you both from the time you were babies. I imagined my two beautiful daughters, excelling in school and athletics, growing up and going to college at my alma mater, becoming successful in respectable careers, marrying good, Christian men, and starting families."

Quinn hates hearing this, because it's everything that she failed at so miserably. She wasn't even his beautiful daughter until she was thirteen, and she had to make herself over completely to be that, but even when she wasn't pretty, she was expected to have the grades and go to the school Russell wanted and become a perfect, Stepford wife like her mother.

"I thought that if I…guided you along that path, kept you from making any wrong turns, that I was doing my job, being a good parent. I was wrong. Being a good parent means putting your child's wants and needs above your own, teaching them solid values, and then letting them grow and follow their own path. I didn't do that for you, Quinn." And Quinn loses her breath, because these are not words that the father she grew up with should be saying. They are so anti-Russell that Quinn thinks he must be lying through his teeth.

"You were always so happy to read your books or take piano lessons. You were more interested in opening up a new package of colored pencils and drawing than joining any sports. I should have encouraged you instead of trying to change you, and now I'm left struggling to make amends. It would be so easy for me to try to do that by telling you that I'll hire the best lawyer in Ohio and support your attempt to win custody of…Beth," and his voice gentles over her name. "But I can't do that. Not unless I'm certain that you're really ready to be that little girl's mother. Are you, Quinn?" he asks, eyes leveled on hers unblinkingly. "Are you willing to sacrifice your own future, any chance at attending a good college, and devote yourself to raising a child...to putting her wants and needs and happiness above your own?"

And that's the million dollar question, isn't it? The very thing that Quinn has been going round and round with in her own mind. The short answer is yes. She's ready to do all of that for Beth. To be her mother. But those are Quinn's sacrifices, and lately—thanks to Rachel, and Puck, and damn it, even Shelby—she's been thinking more about what Beth will have to sacrifice if she succeeds in taking her away from Shelby. What's best for Beth? That's the real question and the one that Quinn doesn't have a real answer to yet.

"If I say yes? You're really going to help me?" she tests her father out. She can't just turn her back on a chance at having a good lawyer, even if it means playing nice with Russell.

"On one condition."

"Of course," Quinn scoffs. "There's always a catch with you. Let me guess, I have to smile and pretend everything is forgiven so you can move back in and we can play happy family again."

Russell's jaw tightens. "I won't deny that I want my family back, Quinn, but I know it will take time and effort to earn your forgiveness...and your mother's. That's why I want us all to attend family counseling."

"Therapy? That's your condition?" Quinn screeches. She didn't want it when Judy half-assedly offered it months ago, and she sure as hell doesn't want it now. She isn't crazy, damn it!

"If you truly want to make Beth a part of this family, then we all need to work on being a family again."

And, oh, that's low, even for Russell. Using her daughter against her that way. "We were never a family."

"Then we need to become one. It can only help your case, Quinn."

"You're unbelievable," Quinn throws her hands in the air and paces away from her father. She hates that he's actually right. Her fucked-up, dysfunctional family isn't going to win her any points in court. She just really doesn't want to let her father get his way. "I can't believe that you're using my daughter as leverage to weasel your way back into this house."

"I'm doing what needs to be done," he tells her evenly.

Quinn storms over to her mother, who has been sitting silently in the arm chair, clutching a half-empty glass of wine. "Are you seriously going to let him do this? Are you that desperate to be loved?" Judy flinches, but Quinn won't feel guilty. She won't.

"Quinnie, he's your father, and he's trying. We both are. Talking to your father's minister about our…our past difficulties could help us all start to heal. Please, just…think about it."

Quinn doesn't answer. She bounds up the stairs and into her bedroom, careful to slam the door with as much force as she can muster. She doesn't want to think about family counseling, but she can't think of anything else.

Do her parents even realize what they're asking? Do they really want her to sit in a room with some stranger and tell him what a fucked-up childhood she had? How fat, unpopular little Lucy just wanted her mommy to tell her she was beautiful and her daddy to tell her that he was proud of her, no matter what she looked like, and how instead, they both tried to change her. How instead of being taught about love and acceptance, she was taught about image and status. How she took those lessons into high school and targeted the person who most reminded her of her old self—the person who didn't need status and image to feel like she was worth something. How she cheated and lied and schemed. How she hurt people. How her parents tossed her aside like she was nothing. How Quinn did the same thing to her own daughter.

How she's terrified of doing to Beth what was done to her but even more terrified of letting her go for good because she'll be letting go of the only good thing in her life.

Yeah, family counseling is going to be so much fun.

xx

Quinn spends the weekend avoiding her parents. The only time she even comes out of her bedroom is on Saturday for her pre-arranged visit with Beth. She holds her daughter in her arms and fights back her tears because she doesn't want Shelby to ask any questions. Puck isn't with her today, and Shelby is doing her best to give them a little space, so Quinn feeds Beth and changes her and sings to her and tries to imagine doing this everyday on her own. She finds it easier than she did at sixteen, but it still terrifies her when she tries to think about putting food on the table and buying new clothes every few months and finding a pediatrician and paying medical bills. She tries to imagine what she'll say to Beth the first time she comes home from school crying because some mean kid calls her names or laughs because she's wearing second-hand clothes from the Goodwill because her mom is some blue-collar nobody who can't afford to buy her daughter nice things.

She watches Shelby press a kiss to Beth's forehead with envy.

xx

Quinn finds information on Ohio adoption law stuffed into her locker on Monday morning. She would have known who it was from even without the gold star sticker at the top, and she knows that this is probably Rachel's attempt to help her in the only way she can. Or maybe not, because it's not exactly full of good news. Statistically, birth parents almost never succeed in overturning an adoption.

She already knows that the adoption consent that she signed is basically final. She had to wait seventy-two hours before she was even allowed to sign it, and the social worker asked her in every imaginable way if she understood what she was doing. Quinn did, and she signed, and so did Puck. She also knows that the adoption wasn't final for six months, and if she was going to exercise her right to withdraw consent, she had to do it before those six months were up. Even then, she would have had to have been able to provide clear and convincing evidence that it would be in her daughter's best interests to be with her birth parents. She knows she couldn't have proven it then—or even now really. Shelby isn't a bad mother. Even if Puck's increasingly squicky crush on Shelby ever comes to fruition, he's over eighteen and technically he's not really her student and exposing an affair would hurt Puck as much as Shelby when it comes to getting custody of Beth.

Quinn does see that Rachel has highlighted the few encouraging facts that she found. Apparently, Quinn and Puck are still barely within the year-long time period from the final decree to be able to file a petition to contest the adoption. There are conditions of course. There always are. They'd have to prove the adoption was based on gross error or fraud or that Quinn wasn't in her right mind when she signed the consent. Rachel has scribbled postpartum depression in the corner with a question mark, and Quinn is understandably pissed, but strangely a little touched that Rachel is even thinking of strategies for her. She's also highlighted the possibility that both the birth and adoptive parents could agree to reverse the adoption, but Quinn knows that's unlikely.

She's thinking more and more about Beth and what it really means to be a good mother.

That's the real measure of motherhood. How much of yourself will you give up for them?

Maybe giving her to Shelby really was the right thing, Quinn. I mean, she's happy…

You're her mother Quinn. You always will be. You're always going to be a part of her life, whether you have full custody, or…or you visit her every chance you get.

Being a good parent means putting your child's wants and needs above your own.

Quinn thinks maybe she's finally ready to do that.

xx

She tells her mother that's she's willing to try counseling, because even if she doesn't try to get custody of Beth, she's finally ready to admit that she needs to work through her issues. Beth deserves a mother who's happy and healthy, and Quinn isn't right now.

Judy cries in relief. Russell calls to thank her, and Quinn actually lets him. She goes to school and pays more attention in her classes and puts in her best effort again, because even though she pretty much blew her shot at valedictorian, she can still graduate with high honors and in the top two percent. It's something to work for that she knows she can actually accomplish.

Opening night for West Side Story is looming, and Quinn is impressed by how well they're all doing. She was right about Rachel being the perfect Maria and Santana being a kick-ass Anita, and when she hears them perform their duet for the first time, she wonders why it's taken them three years to sing together. Okay, so she knows it's because Santana pretty much hates Rachel, but their voices sure seem to be carrying on a love affair.

Quinn has been understandably distracted through most of the rehearsals, but she does notice the increase in personal insults from Santana and Rachel reacting in her typical hurt fashion. Quinn debates stepping in, but really, what would that accomplish? Santana is never going to change. Her grudge against Rachel Berry predates Quinn's arrival at McKinley, and she's never really known the reason—well, other than Rachel's grating, self-absorbed personality and horrible fashion sense. Santana isn't exactly a ray of sunshine either. None of them are.

The first performance of the show is flawless and the audience actually gives them a standing ovation. Quinn is surprised at how well they're received. They all rush off stage, laughing and dancing, deservedly proud and genuinely happy. Finn bounds up to Rachel with a big bouquet of roses that she squeals over, and he bends down to kiss her. It's as awkward as ever, but there's something indescribably more intimate about it, and Quinn feels a little tickle of nausea in her belly. But that's ridiculous, because she's not jealous and she doesn't want Finn back.

Santana makes a retching sound next to her and shouts out for everyone to hear, "I hope you wrapped it up the other night, Finnefficient, 'cause I don't want to see any of your giant, ugly troll babies pop out at Nationals."

Quinn almost laughs, because Rachel was the president of the Celibacy Club last year, but the look on Rachel's face and the proud, little smirk on Finn's stops her cold. It's blatantly obvious to anyone who's looking that they actually did have sex, and Quinn thinks she might really be sick. She's outside before she realizes that she even moved, and she slams her back into the brick wall of the building and closes her eyes, shuddering at the image in her head of Finn and Rachel together.

She doesn't understand why she's reacting this way. She knows that she's over Finn, and honestly, she never really wanted him physically anyway. She'd sort-of loved him, as much as she suspects she's able to, but she knows it wasn't enough to base a lifetime on. Sam and Puck were both better kissers, and she can admit now that part of the draw to Finn was the increase in popularity and the improved chances for winning prom queen. And maybe, keeping him away from Rachel might have added to the thrill a little.

So why does she care that he's sleeping with Rachel?

Santana's words replay themselves, and Quinn shudders again, silently hoping that Rachel is smarter about birth control than she was, because it might just break her heart to see Rachel stuck in Lima with a brood of little Hudsons, giving singing lessons to unappreciative, local kids instead of living out her Broadway dreams.

Quinn's parents (yes, both of them) eventually find her in the parking lot. Russell is the first one to ask if she's okay, and he sounds so genuinely concerned that Quinn wants to cry. Where was he two years ago? She bites her tongue and just claims she's overheated. Judy tells her how wonderful she was and Quinn chuckles and shakes her head because she didn't have any lines and all she did was dance and sing in the chorus. She wants to be happy that they're at least trying, like they promised, but it still feels like too little and too late.

xx

The next time Quinn sees Rachel, she can't help but ask, "So…you and Finn, huh?" Rachel ducks her head and blushes, nodding silently. "Did you…? Were you…you know…careful about it?" And it's Quinn's turn to blush, because really? It's none of her business, but she's the one who had a baby. She's the fucking poster girl for teenage motherhood, and if that doesn't entitle her to a little concerned prying, then what was the point?

Rachel's face tints scarlet, but she nods again. "Y-yes, Quinn. Doubly so," and Quinn feels a little better.

"I'm sorry Santana announced it in public that way."

Rachel shrugs. "I suppose I should have expected it. She's been taunting me with their…previous experience…since we started working on the musical, and I…well, I shouldn't have reacted, but, " she trails off.

"Please tell me that isn't the reason you finally slept with him."

"No. We'd been heading in that direction for awhile. It just…it seemed like it was time to take that step, you know?"

"No," Quinn answers honestly. Her one and only experience with Puck was nothing more than a drunken hook-up when her self-esteem had been at its lowest, not some organic progression of a deep and meaningful relationship. If she hadn't gotten pregnant, she would have forgotten about it completely and re-devoted herself to Celibacy Club. She actually had done just that until the damn pregnancy test came up positive. Her relationship with Finn had been mostly passion-free, partly thanks to his quick trigger and partly because—well, it's Finn.

Sam—well, maybe if she hadn't cheated on him, eventually she might have felt more. Or—maybe not so much.

"O-oh, well," Rachel stutters, clearly embarrassed again, and if Quinn didn't know better, she'd say that Rachel looks a little disappointed?

"Just make sure he treats you right this time," Quinn tells her, turning back to her notebook and absently scribbling little doodles of knives and guns in the margins.

xx

The first Fabray family counseling session is kind of a joke. They don't spill their deep dark secrets or even air out their grievances. It's more of a meet and greet, and Reverend Ellis gives them information about himself and his credentials—a doctorate in ministry and psychology. He highlights some of the things he and Russell have already worked through and lets Judy and Quinn know what they can expect in their sessions.

Russell had convinced Judy to attend his church a few weeks ago, and in turn, she's finally persuaded Quinn to come along for the first time on Sunday. Quinn is secretly glad that she did. She hadn't realized how much she's been missing her faith.

She used to attend services with her parents every Sunday and the atmosphere was always somber and serious. Their old minister had a fondness for preaching about sins and sinners and the world going to fire and brimstone. When she'd gotten pregnant, Quinn had no longer been welcome there. She'd attended church with Mercedes while she'd lived with her and for a few months after she'd moved home, but Quinn hadn't really felt like she belonged there either. She'd tried going back to her mother's church, but her skin would crawl under the judgmental glares, and every sermon felt like a personal attack. Eventually, she stopped going, but she'd held on to her faith in private—until last summer.

Reverend Ellis seems like a decent sort of man. He's in his early sixties, clean-shaven with a head full of snow-white hair. He's genuinely kind and he seems to have a sense of humor. His sermon on Sunday was about God's love and forgiveness, and Quinn had left church feeling good for the first time in a long time. She thinks she's going to like Russell's church, even if she's still not too sure about Russell.

xx

They complete their run of West Side Story, and everyone's attention turns almost exclusively to Sectionals. New Directions has added a foreign exchange student named Rory, but they still don't have enough members to compete. Neither does Shelby's little club. Mercedes is still in full-on diva mode and refuses to come back. She also refuses to acknowledge just how much Rachel rocked as Maria. Even Santana manages to offer what qualifies as a compliment on that front.

Finn tries to get Santana back in the club through Brittany, and in typical Finn fashion, he manages to fuck it up royally. A pissed-off Santana is never a good thing, and before anyone knows what's happening, Puck defects as well, no doubt to try and get closer to Shelby. Artie follows soon after, wooed away by Brittany's sweet talk. Rachel is livid and a little pissed at Finn for his clumsy meddling that's only made everything worse.

Quinn is waiting for Santana to come after her next, and she isn't disappointed.

"Oh, come on, Q. We all know you're only back in glee so you can keep seeing your kid. If you join our team, you get to suck up to Shelby even more. It's not like you really give a crap about those losers. You could finally get back at mini-mouth and Finndigestion."

Quinn rolls her eyes at the lame insults and slams her books into her locker. "I'm not interested, Santana."

"Why the hell not?" she asks with her hands on her hips. "What's in it for you if you stay?"

"What's in it for me if I don't?" she counters. "Either way, we won't be eligible to compete without twelve members. Face it, you're never getting Rachel or Finn away from Schuester. So unless you convince every other member of New Directions to switch teams, we'll all be screwed."

Santana shrugs nonchalantly. "Then I guess no one goes to Sectionals."

"What is wrong with you?" Quinn demands sharply. "You were pissed that we didn't win Nationals last year. Now you suddenly don't even care if you even make it there or not?"

"I'm back on cheerios, Quinn," Santana emphasizes with a finger jabbed into her uniform emblem. "I am going to the only Nationals that matters, and then I'm getting my fine ass a cheerleading scholarship to UCLA. Glee club is just a nice little footnote on my extracurriculars."

Quinn shakes her head. "You are such a bitch."

Santana grins proudly and nods. "Yep. And I'm so much better at it than you ever hoped to be."

Quinn watches her saunter off, cheerios' skirt swishing teasingly. That could have been her. For the first time, she's genuinely glad that that particular version of Quinn Fabray is dead and buried.

The Sectionals issue isn't going away, so of course, Schuester has the brilliant idea that they should compete with Shelby's club in a winner-take-all mash-up competition. Logistically, they're actually pretty even. Shelby has the powerhouse vocals of Mercedes and Santana, the superior dancing of Brittany, two strong male leads in Puck and Artie, and—well, Sugar. New Directions has Rachel, Kurt, and Blaine to bring it vocally, Mike with his awesome dancing, Tina is a double threat, and Quinn likes to think she has some nice moves too. Rory is a decent addition to the club, and Finn is—well, Finn.

The impartial judges aren't really all that impartial. Ms. Pillsbury is obviously Team Schuester all the way. Coach Beiste is a wildcard, true, but the tiebreaker ends up being Burt Hummel, of all people, and everyone knows there's no way he'll vote against his son and step-son. Santana bitches about it being rigged, and Shelby doesn't seem all that thrilled, but the weird silent conversation that Quinn sees zinging between her and Rachel has the woman agreeing.

In the end, it's actually pretty cut and dry anyway. Rachel and Blaine are vocal perfection, and the scaled-down New Directions is perfectly in sync. Shelby's group doesn't fare nearly as well, since Sugar Motta believes she's the star and her awful screeching can't be masked by either Santana or Mercedes as they try to out-sing her and one another. The whole thing ends up a pitchy and disorganized mess. Shelby's fingers press into her temple throughout the entire performance, and the resemblance between her and Rachel has never been more pronounced. They both look as if they'd rather be hearing nails on a chalkboard. All three judges vote New Directions, and, as agreed, Shelby defers her coaching to Mr. Schuester.

Puck, Artie, and Brittany happily come back, and Santana begrudgingly follows when Brittany pouts and whispers some secret promise in her ear that has the girl blushing scarlet. Mercedes storms out again, and Sugar—well, everyone agrees that she should stay with Shelby. Rachel is clearly upset that Mercedes won't get over herself, but at least they have their twelve members now.

"I just don't understand why she won't come back," Rachel complains quietly to Finn at the end of their latest meeting. Quinn is slowly packing up her things and unabashedly eavesdropping because it's about Mercedes, and, honestly, Quinn has been feeling a little concerned about her lately too. Yeah, she was angry with her for awhile, but now she just feels sorry for her because except for her douche-bag of a boyfriend, Mercedes doesn't talk to anyone anymore. "I know she feels under-appreciated, but she's one of our strongest singers. We need her."

Finn makes his thoughtful face—at least Quinn thinks it's his thoughtful face. They all kind of start to look the same after awhile. "We have twelve people now though, so, like, it's kinda her loss, right?"

Rachel frowns at him, and Quinn recognizes the disappointment in her eyes. "Finn, she's part of the team. We're a family, and we're not complete without Mercedes."

"Yeah," he agrees with a shrug, "but she doesn't want to be here. I mean, what can we do?" He must completely miss Rachel's annoyance at his lack of concern, because he grins like an idiot and wraps a meaty arm around her delicate shoulder and jerks her into his side. "C'mon, let's get out of here. We've got a couple hours before your dads get home, right?"

Rachel shrugs out from under her arm with a huff and snaps up her bag. "I'm not in the mood," she mutters testily as she paces out of the room.

Finn frowns and lumbers after her, complaining, "You're, like, never in the mood anymore."

Quinn doesn't know why, but the exchange makes her smile.

xx

Mercedes finally rejoins New Directions two weeks before Sectionals. She gets the solo, and Rachel doesn't utter one word of protest. Quinn finds out later that Rachel basically bribed Mercedes into coming back with the offer to step aside, and she really wants to know why.

"Because we need her."

"Bull," Quinn mutters, crossing her arms. "Tell me the real reason." They're facing off in familiar showdown formation, this time in the hallway next to Rachel's locker, but it's probably the first time the confrontation doesn't have anything to do with Finn.

Rachel gently closes her locker door and faces Quinn. "She's been in glee club with us for more than two years, Quinn. It just isn't right for her to not be a part of it now. If giving up a competition solo is all it takes to get her back, than I'm willing to do it."

"You know, I think I remember you conceding a solo to her at Sectionals sophomore year. And again at that stupid fundraiser last year."

"I conceded nothing, Quinn. Mercedes won that solo by election of our peers and then it was stolen from her along with the rest of our set list. And last year was," Rachel trails off with a sigh and shrugs. "She deserved to have the closing number. I couldn't have followed her."

Quinn chuckles a little and leans against the closest locker, because Rachel trying to be modest is just really weird. She actually isn't sure if she likes this reasonable, grown-up version of her—adversary? Teammate? Friend? How wrong is that?

"You know you could have blown her away if you'd wanted to, but you were trying to be a good friend. And sophomore year? My God, Rachel," Quinn breathes reverently as she calls up the memory of standing just outside the theater door and listening to Rachel sing, shivers racing up and down her spine at the clarity and passion of her voice before marching down that aisle and seeing how effortlessly Rachel had taken the audience into the palm of her hand. "Nothing Mercedes could have offered would have come close to you singing Don't Rain On My Parade. I think everyone in that auditorium was completely in awe of you."

Rachel's cheeks are painted pink, and her smile is soft and delighted. "Were you?" she asks quietly. Quinn, still lost in her memory, furrows her brows in confusion. "In awe of me," Rachel clarifies, and then her smile slips a bit and her color deepens as she stutters, "m-my voice, I mean. Not me, per se, because obviously you wouldn't have been…"

"I was," Quinn admits, silencing Rachel mid-ramble. The smile is back, even brighter, and Quinn feels another rush of warmth at being the cause. Yeah, this is just weird, but she's actually kind of enjoying this trying to be friends with Rachel thing.

"Thank you, Quinn. You…you don't know how much that actually means to me. Especially when I know how much you," she bites her lip and changes tact, "well, we really weren't at all on good terms at the time."

Quinn straightens off the locker with a slight frown. "Are we now?"

"I think we are," Rachel says.

"Huh? How did that happen?" Quinn asks, but she's smiling a little, so it takes the sting out. At least, she thinks it must, because Rachel doesn't look upset by the question. Quinn is genuinely curious though, because she knows she's never actually apologized for any of the really bitchy things she's done or said, and Rachel's never actually apologized for trying to steal her boyfriend (twice) while he was still dating Quinn. They just seemed to come to this unconscious agreement to treat one another with kindness.

"My charismatic personality finally won you over," Rachel offers with her dazzling, Broadway smile.

"Wore me down, you mean?" Quinn quips flatly.

Rachel shrugs casually. "Whatever works." Quinn knows that it isn't meant to be a joke in the slightest, but she laughs anyway. She's still smiling when she walks away, and she doesn't notice Santana eyeing her strangely.

A few days later, New Directions wins Sectionals without any real competition from the other choirs. Mercedes is flawless on her solo, and she hugs Rachel after they exit the stage. Quinn thinks the rest of the year might just be drama free.

xx

Quinn asks Shelby if she can introduce Beth to her parents. She's still not thrilled about including Russell, but she promised to really try with the therapy thing, and she's still undecided on the custody issue. She's trying to give Shelby more of a chance (and not just in relation to Beth) and that's how she finds out that Rachel's birthday is in four days. Because Shelby? She's kind of a weepy mess. Quinn's been there, and she knows she'll probably be going back there again every year for the rest of her life.

They really are more alike than she wants to admit, even if their circumstances are entirely different. Shelby is struggling to make a real connection with Rachel, dancing a fine line between pushing too hard and staying too distant. Quinn can sympathize, because she's sort of doing the same thing with Beth.

She ends up at the mall after her visit with her daughter, and she knows she's about to do something that she never imagined she would. She's been thinking back over the last four years and wondering if she forgot about Rachel's birth date because she just didn't care or if she honestly never knew when it was. She's more and more certain that she never knew, and she wonders if anyone else did. No one in glee club has ever mentioned it, not even Finn.

Quinn wishes Rachel a Happy Birthday in their first class the next day, because her actual birthday is Sunday. Rachel looks shocked and stutters out a stunned thank you. That reaction is nothing compared to the one Quinn gets after glee. She asks Rachel to hang back for a minute, and she ignores the slightly distrustful look on Finn's face when Rachel tells him she'll catch up. Once they're alone, Quinn unceremoniously shoves a pink and yellow gift-bag into Rachel's hands, and Rachel stares at it like it might explode.

"I…I don't…when did you? How?"

Quinn thinks she's kind of cute all flustered like this, but it bothers her to know that Rachel doesn't expect any of her friends to remember her birthday. And lo and behold, no one else did. At least, no one said anything in glee. Quinn is hoping Finn has something amazing planned for her actual birthday, but she isn't holding her breath. He never remembered hers.

"It's nothing, Rachel." The girl keeps staring at the bag and—sheesh, she's looking almost weepy now. "Just open it," Quinn commands.

Rachel draws in a deep breath and carefully opens the bag to reach inside. Her hand is halfway out when she starts to laugh, albeit a little tearfully. She pulls The New York Survival Guide the rest of the way out and grins. "I assume this is to aid me in avoiding shady characters lurking around corners."

Quinn smirks. "Or, you know, to keep you from buying tickets to Broadway shows that have been closed for a decade."

Rachel flushes in embarrassment. "Thank you, Quinn."

"Well, it's your birthday, right?"

Rachel nods, and then she carefully places the book back into the bag and sets it aside on the chair. "I'm going to hug you now," she announces, and steps forward with open arms. Quinn stiffens as Rachel's body makes contact with hers, and she fumbles with her own arms until they finally settle loosely around Rachel's waist. It's really awkward for a few seconds, and then Quinn relaxes into the hug a little, and it feels—God, it feels nice. She can't really explain it. She's been hugged before—by Finn and Sam, by Puck once or twice, by Brittany and Mercedes, and occasionally by her parents—but she's always felt suffocated by them, uncomfortable and eager for escape. She doesn't with Rachel and she has no idea why. Maybe it has something to do with being the taller person for a change.

That must be it.

Almost as soon as it starts, it's over, and Rachel is stepping back with uncertain eyes and nervously biting her lower lip. Quinn unconsciously licks her own in response. Rachel swallows thickly and abruptly turns away to gather up her belongings. "Th-thanks again…for the gift. And just…you know." She laughs at her own awkwardness and shakes her head. "Yeah…thanks," she finishes with a sweet smile before she disappears out the door.

Quinn stares after her for a moment and wonders what the hell just happened.

xx

The holidays roll around and Quinn is grateful for the break. The last week of school had been strange to say the least. Apparently, Finn hadn't remembered Rachel's birthday until he'd seen Quinn's gift, and he'd rushed to throw something together for her at the last minute. Quinn knows this because she overheard Kurt and Blaine talking about the couple's disastrous date on Saturday night and a recycled, gold star necklace that Finn had tried giving to Rachel last year when they were broken up, only to have it rejected when she'd slipped it back into his locker three days later. Needless to say, it had been rejected again. The result of this had been nearly unbearable tension between the happy couple. Quinn was a little grateful though, because it distracted from the weirdness between her and Rachel.

Quinn spends Christmas Eve alone with her mother. If it's not exactly merry, it's at least quiet and relatively peaceful. Christmas Day is a different story. Russell comes over for dinner, and it's uncomfortable and overly formal and too much like the family dinners at the Fabray house used to be. All that's missing is her sister, Abigail, who hasn't really been home since she got married four years ago. It wouldn't matter if she were there anyway, because Abby hasn't even spoken to Quinn since she got pregnant.

Quinn is feeling increasingly trapped, and all she wants is to get away, but Russell seems to sense her discomfort and he surprises her by letting her go without a fight. Quinn retreats to the safety of her bedroom and turns on her iPod, picking up a favorite book to read.

She sees him again two days later when her parents finally meet Beth for the first time. Shelby has invited Puck and his mother too, and while relations between the Fabrays and Mrs. Puckerman are decidedly chilly, they all melt the minute Beth comes into the room. It's a really good night.

Russell pulls Quinn aside after they drive home and asks her to sit on the couch and speak with him for a few minutes. "Have you made any decisions?" he asks.

Quinn's jaw clenches and she stares at the far wall. "Not yet," she finally admits.

"My offer to support you still stands," he tells her seriously, "but I'm glad you're not rushing into anything. She…Beth," and his voice crackles with emotion, "she's beautiful, Lucy Quinn. And she deserves only good things."

Quinn wipes at her tears. She wants to ask him what he thinks those good things are, but she's not sure what answer she really wants anymore.

"You deserve good things too," he tells her gently, and that's it. She can't stop herself from breaking down and falling sideways into her father's solid body. His arms are around her instantly, and maybe it doesn't feel perfect yet, but it feels better than it ever has before. She isn't going to forget what he's done to her, but maybe—maybe if he stays like he is right now, maybe she can eventually forgive him.

A long time later, when she's cried out and composed, Russell broaches the subject of college, "Because if you decide not to pursue custody of Beth, then you need to start thinking about your own future."

It's strange, because she knows her father, and she knows what his voice sounds like when he's pushing his own agenda, and this isn't it. Reverend Ellis must really be a miracle worker.

"I was thinking of OSU," she mumbles with a shrug.

His face hardens, and Quinn knows he isn't happy because he's still a Northwestern man, but he doesn't say anything derogatory. Instead he just tells her, "There are a lot of good schools out there, Quinn. You should do some research. It can't hurt to apply."

It can though, because Quinn still doesn't feel like she's good enough to get into a decent college and get out of Ohio. She's not even sure leaving the state is really an option now that Beth is back in her life. Of course, she's counting on Shelby sticking around, but that isn't a guarantee. She'd up and taken Beth to New York once before, and she could easily do so again, especially if she has incentive in the form of a Broadway bound Rachel.

The next day, Quinn downloads information on a few schools in New York.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ³Glee, 3:04, Pot O' Gold


	3. Deliberation

**Part III: Deliberation**

* * *

It's a new year and another new Quinn. Well, not entirely new—not the year or the Quinn. It's 11:28 pm on December 31, and Quinn is sitting at the edge of a sofa in Rachel Berry's basement holding a red cup full of eggnog that's light on the egg and heavy on the rum. She's been nursing it for the last two hours. The alcohol was courtesy of Puck, who'd talked Rachel into hosting another House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza to ring in the New Year when he'd heard that her house would be parent-free. She isn't quite sure where Rachel's dads are—supposedly out enjoying some all-night festivities of their own. If Quinn didn't see the men around Lima every so often, she honestly might start to wonder if they even existed, because they're always conveniently absent whenever any of Rachel's friends are in her immediate vicinity.

Quinn is wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a form-fitting, button down chambray shirt that's riding a little high at the waist and a little low at the neckline. She doesn't know whom she's trying to impress. She blames it on Reverend Ellis. In their last counseling session, Quinn talked about how pressured she's always felt to fit a certain image and how many times her closet has been gutted and restocked in hopes of impressing her parents and her peers. Reverend Ellis asked her what her image would be if it were entirely up to her with no expectations or repercussions. Quinn wasn't able to answer at first, because sometimes she really does like to wear a frilly sundress with soft makeup and styled hair, but then she remembered what she used to wear when she was still Lucy. Extra-large sizing aside, Lucy had been a bit of a tomboy, happiest in blue jeans and sweatshirts. Quinn kind of misses those days, hence the attempt at a hipper, sexier version of her adolescent wardrobe.

Brittany and Santana are all over one another on the sofa next to her, and Quinn presses as far as she can into the armrest to keep away from their wandering limbs. She's seen them get handsy before, but they've never been quite this bad in public, and frankly, it's making her a little uncomfortable. She's happy for them of course. It's taken a long time for Santana to get to this place where she can be with Brittany publicly, and Quinn doesn't begrudge them their displays of affection. She just doesn't need a front row seat to see them actually have sex.

All the gleeks are scattered throughout the basement in various states of drunken debauchery and coupledom to ring in the New Year. Blaine and Kurt are doing something that resembles dancing but only barely. Mike and Tina are too, but they're far more graceful about it. Mercedes and her douche-bag are raiding the snack table, and Finn is slobbering all over Rachel in the corner—or he was. When Quinn glances in their direction again, Finn is sitting on the floor with his head tilted back against the wall, and Rachel is—?

Where the hell is Rachel anyway?

Quinn is halfway up the stairs before she really thinks about what she's doing, but it's Rachel's house and Rachel's party and Rachel's boyfriend is sitting on the floor looking like a kicked puppy. She finds the girl in question sitting on a stool at the island in her kitchen and staring into the bottom of a glass with a gold star embossed on the side. Quinn slides onto the stool next to her and places her own cup down on the counter top. Her gaze dances over the sleek, modern appliances, and her nails begin a rhythmic tap against the countertop.

"You should be downstairs, enjoying the party," Rachel says, breaking the silence that's been hanging between them since Quinn sat down.

Quinn shrugs. "Felt like taking a breather."

Rachel's lips quirk into a sad, crooked smile. "Yeah. Me too."

"So what did Finn do this time?" Quinn asks, because it's almost always Finn.

Rachel sighs and swirls the clear liquid around in her glass. "He applied to OSU."

Quinn raises an eyebrow in confusion. "And this is bad because…?"

"It isn't in New York," Rachel replies testily, likes it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, yeah, that's kind of implied in the Ohio part of Ohio State University," Quinn snarks back.

"Don't be purposely obtuse, Quinn. It doesn't become you."

Quinn sighs and props an elbow onto the counter, resting her chin against her hand. "I thought the different cities after graduation thing was kind of expected though. I mean, you're obviously going to New York, and Finn isn't exactly a big city boy, Rachel. And honestly, he'll be lucky to get into OSU with his grades," Quinn points out. In fact, she'd been shocked when she found out that an OSU football recruiter even talked to Finn at all, considering his average grades and average football stats.

"That's not," Rachel starts defensively, then she deflates, "he's been better. I've been tutoring him a little. I just thought…"

"That he'd follow you to New York?"

Rachel huffs and starts to pout, and Quinn bites back the words I told you so, because really—wasn't Rachel listening to her at all last year? Finn is going to stay in Lima and take over Burt's garage. Sure, he might get to actually go to college and play football and pretend he has a shot at being a professional athlete for another few years, but he's going to end up back here eventually. He doesn't know how to chase his dreams unless someone else is pushing him.

Quinn watches Rachel continue to sulk. She's pretty much turned it into an art form—it's even kind of entertaining. "You know it isn't fair to ask Finn to give up what could be a really great opportunity for him," Quinn finally points out. Rachel squares her shoulders and opens her mouth, but Quinn hurries to cut her off. "You wouldn't want him to ask you to give up New York, would you?"

Rachel sags down, crossing her arms on the counter in front of her and hanging her head. "He did ask me," she whispers.

Quinn immediately snaps to attention. "What?" she barks.

"Well, he didn't really ask me to give it up," Rachel admits. "He just…asked me to consider delaying it a few years and enrolling at OSU. It's kind of been a sore point between us and he had to go and bring it up again tonight."

"You're not actually considering it, are you?" Quinn demands. She can't believe Finn would even think of asking Rachel to sacrifice her dream for him. Rachel trying to drag him to New York, she understands. It's Rachel, and Rachel has plans. Finn doesn't. Rachel is also a little bit selfish. Then again, so is Finn.

Rachel sighs sadly and shrugs. "OSU's theater department is consistently ranked in the top twenty."

"Oh, my God. You can't be serious?" Rachel sits up, eyes sparkling with moisture and grabs her glass, taking a long pull of the liquid inside. Quinn grabs it away the second it leaves her lips. "Stop that," she growls, taking a sniff inside the pilfered glass and then frowning.

"It's just water," Rachel whispers.

Quinn sets the glass aside and stares at Rachel. "Do you want to go to OSU?"

"No," Rachel admits sullenly.

"Then why the hell are you even thinking about it?" Quinn wants to know. She's finally coming to terms with the idea that staying in Ohio doesn't have to be a prison sentence, especially if her daughter is here, but that doesn't mean that she thinks it would be good for Rachel. She knows that Rachel Berry will suffocate if she has to stay here one minute longer than absolutely necessary. She'll end up tying herself to Finn, getting married and pregnant, and waking up twenty years from now full of regrets that she didn't chase her dream when she had the chance.

Rachel swallows heavily and brushes away the few rogue tears that have escaped. "I…I have to consider the possibility that I won't be accepted to NYADA. It's a really competitive school, and I…I don't know if I'll make the final cut."

Quinn wants to tell her that she's being ridiculous. Rachel is amazing, but she knows that the possibility exists that Rachel won't get accepted. "So you want a back-up plan," Quinn reasons. "Fine. Smart idea. But, Rachel, there are a ton of schools in New York with outstanding theater programs:…NYU, Barnard, Fordham, the Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts. You have choices."

Rachel's eyes have grown wider with every school mentioned, and now she's looking at Quinn in awe, and frankly, it's kind of making her feel…weird. "You…I…Quinn," she breathes out, "have you been considering colleges in New York?"

Quinn feels her face heat with embarrassment. "Not just New York," she mutters, because she's also looked into a few in Ohio—OSU really is a good school—and maybe she's checked out Rutgers University and Princeton too. She's already missed some of the deadlines for the fall term, but a few she got in just under the wire yesterday, and she still might apply to some for next spring. Taking a semester off doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

"Does that mean…?" Rachel licks her upper lip nervously, and Quinn's eyes follow the action without her consent. "Have you made a decision about Beth?"

Quinn locks her gaze on the wall over Rachel's shoulder. "She's happy, Rachel. She…she has a mother who loves her and who will do whatever it takes to make sure that Beth has everything she'll ever need. That's really all I ever wanted for her, and I can't just selfishly rip her away from the only home she's ever known."

Rachel reaches out and covers Quinn's hand, giving it a brief squeeze before letting go. "For what it's worth, I'm proud of you, Quinn. Beth is going to grow up surrounded by so many people who love her."

And just that easily, she's crying in front of Rachel again. It's becoming a bad habit. Rachel hands her a napkin from the nearby holder, and Quinn accepts it with a teary chuckle. She wipes her eyes (and her nose as daintily as possible) and manages to rein in her emotions. "I'm going to try to stay close to wherever she is, so I can see her as much as possible. I just…don't really know what Shelby is planning, you know?"

Rachel smiles sadly. "I wish I could say that I do know. Shelby and I have been talking, but it's still kind of strained, and I'm not really privy to her future plans." Quinn nods in understanding. She didn't really expect Rachel to have any insight, but she was hoping. "I…I think you should just apply to every school that you're interested in," Rachel tells her. "You're so smart, Quinn, and I'm sure you'll get accepted anywhere. I know you want to be close to Beth, but there are school breaks and summers and Skype. You could go to any college in the Northeast and still see Beth every weekend if you want."

Quinn licks her lips as she digests Rachel's little speech, and eventually, one eyebrow goes up. "Same goes for you and Finn," she finally says.

Rachel opens her mouth, and then closes it. Her lips curve into a smile. "Touché."

Cheers echo up from the basement, and Quinn and Rachel both glance at the clock on the wall. Quinn smiles. "Happy New Year, Rachel."

"Happy New Year, Quinn."

They look at one another for a long moment, and Quinn feels a strong urge to lean forward and…and…she's not sure what exactly. She doesn't really have much time to process it, because Finn's voice interrupts them as he calls out Rachel's name. Rachel jerks back, looking slightly shaken, and slides off the stool just as Finn appears in the doorway.

"There you are," he smiles, lumbering over and looping his arms around her shoulders. "Happy New Year," he says, and drops a semi-chaste kiss onto her lips. Quinn frowns and looks away, but not before she glimpses Rachel's soft smile. She feels a sudden headache coming on, so she slips out of the room and heads back to the basement while the happy couple whispers words of apology and love.

They don't come back to the party for another hour. Quinn welcomes the New Year on her own.

xx

She makes a few minor changes when school resumes but nothing nearly as drastic as her return in August. She still wears her skirts and dresses but jeans and casual shirts are making a regular appearance in her daily wardrobe. Beneath her clothing, the tramp stamp is one shade lighter, thanks to Russell's guilt induced monetary penance. Quinn knows that his offer to pay for her tattoo removal is tied into the same old Fabray image issues, but for once, his expectations and Quinn's desires overlap. She's considering getting a phoenix there someday instead—it seems appropriate.

Her relationship with Russell is a series of two-steps—back and forth. She's still not sure what to make of him, but he hasn't yet reverted to his demanding, overbearing ways, and she's starting to think that maybe this whole born again routine is real after all. She still hasn't forgiven him, but she's not shutting him out completely anymore. Judy is—well, she's trying in her own way. Her little criticisms have dwindled to nearly nothing, and she finally attended her first AA meeting, but only because Russell asked her to. Quinn's grateful for even the smallest improvement at this point. Russell still hasn't moved back in yet, but Quinn thinks it's probably inevitable. For now, her parents are…dating, and it's really fucking strange.

For the first time in longer than she can remember, Quinn does something that she really wants to do for no other reason than that it makes her happy. She enrolls in an art class at McKinley. Despite her best efforts, Sue Sylvester hasn't managed to eradicate the arts yet. Quinn has always loved to draw, whether quick, cartoonish caricatures or detailed sketches of landscapes—she's choosing not to acknowledge the portraits that grace the bathroom stalls—but Russell always thought it was a frivolous waste of time. His disapproval was punctuated by the jocks and cheerios at McKinley who repeatedly replaced the paint-thinner in the art room with superglue. Quinn took her one, required elective freshman year and then officially put her sketchbook away in favor of popularity. She doesn't care about that anymore (or she's trying not to anyway) and she looks forward to her art class more than any other, even glee. Mrs. Casteel is impressed with her raw talent and asks her where she's been hiding for the last four years. Quinn just shrugs.

She sees Beth at least twice a week now, sometimes with Puck and sometimes alone. Puck is still harboring his crush on Shelby, but he's mostly given up on thinking that anything will ever happen between them. Quinn is glad, because explaining that twisted affair to Beth would not be pleasant. Their complicated relationships are already confusing enough, but she and Puck are finally on the same page. They both agree that Shelby is Beth's mom, and their daughter is exactly where she needs to be. They both plan to stay in her life for the rest of theirs. They're mostly content with their part-time roles.

Quinn is thinking more and more about the colleges she's applied to and debating over what attending any of them will mean for her relationship with Beth. She's getting so used to the regular visits that the possibility of going months without seeing her baby girl seems unbearable. She finally broaches the subject to Shelby in mid-January in hopes of narrowing her college prospects to at least a single state.

"You need to make that decision for yourself, Quinn," Shelby tells her, gently urging Beth to accept a spoonful of baby food. Most of it ends up on the little girl's face, and Quinn smiles despite her general annoyance with Shelby's non-answer. "I can't promise you where Beth and I will be four years from now."

"But you can tell me where you plan to be next year. I mean, you have to have some idea."

Shelby wipes Beth's messy face before leaning back in her chair. "Quinn, I don't even know if I'll be at McKinley next month. Mr. Motta isn't exactly thrilled with Sugar's progress, and it's looking like I'll be out of a job soon."

Quinn's eyes widen and she feels her heart start to race. "Y-you're not leaving, are you?" She doesn't know what she'll do if that happens. She's not in a position to follow Beth out of Lima yet. Shelby must sense her growing panic, because she stands and places her hands on Quinn's shoulders.

"I wouldn't do that to you and Noah, and I especially won't do that to Rachel again…not now that we're finally making progress." Shelby drops her arms and leans her hip against the counter. "I meant what I said about wanting you to be part of Beth's life, and you will be, Quinn. But I don't want you to feel like you have to sacrifice your entire future to make that happen. We can work something out. It was never my intention for you to plan the rest of your life around where Beth and I might be living."

"It's my choice," Quinn insists, crossing her arms and clenching her jaw. She knows that technically she can enroll in any college across the country, but she doesn't want to be farther than a couple of hours away from her daughter.

Shelby sighs and tucks her dark hair behind her ears. "You're right. It is your choice. I wish I could tell you for certain that I'll be in Ohio for the next few years, but I just don't know."

It doesn't make Quinn feel any better. Her high school existence is rapidly dwindling. Once the decision letters start coming in, she'll need to pick a college. Russell is offering to pay for whatever school that Quinn eventually chooses, but he's made his preferences known, and she's leery of counting on him for funding in case she pisses him off again. She doesn't want to get stuck covering the cost of an Ivy League tuition. Rachel is pushing the New York schools, and Quinn honestly doesn't know what to make of that development.

Rachel greeted her the first day back to school like nothing odd had happened on New Year's Eve. Maybe it hadn't. Maybe Quinn just imagined that tense moment before Finn found them. Since then, Rachel's been acting like they're suddenly best friends, seeking her out in the hallways, wanting to talk about stupid things like books and homework and glee club, asking questions about Quinn's interest in art, and dropping hints about New York. Quinn has always known that if she gave Rachel an inch of friendship, the girl would attempt to suffocate her with it. The old Quinn—any of the old Quinns—would have insulted her and then ignored her. The new Quinn tolerates Rachel's antics and is even amused by them at times. The new Quinn is probably closer to Lucy than any other version to date.

The Fabray family counseling is slowly dragging along, and Quinn likes Reverend Ellis so much that she starts to schedule some one-on-one sessions with him. She's finding that the more she talks to him, the more she wants to talk, and there are some things that she just can't say in front of her parents. She wants to be able to love herself—or at least like herself—because she never really has, and he's helping her to do that. It's not even all about God and faith, although there's a lot of that too, but about embracing her mistakes and discovering how they've changed her and made her into who she is right now—and she's learning to accept that person.

xx

As January melts into February, the glee club drama kicks into high gear. First, Sam Evans comes back to McKinley, thanks to an amazing job opportunity that finally came through for his father. Quinn is happy to see him. Their romantic relationship may have fizzled, but he was turning out to be a pretty good friend by the end of last year. She's hoping they can pick up where they left off. His return isn't all good, though, because whatever he had going with Mercedes before he moved isn't entirely finished, and she's suddenly on the outs with her douche of a boyfriend, who's not at all happy about Sam. Quinn can see the epic showdown coming down the tracks, and it isn't going to be pretty.

Mike and Tina are fighting too. The year age difference between them is starting to matter more and more as graduation gets closer. Mike's dad isn't Tina's biggest fan, and with her need to be identified as more than her ethnicity and Mike's love of all things Asian, the friction between them is quickly reaching the flash point. Quinn hopes they work it out because they're probably the most functional couple that the glee club has ever had.

Brittany and Rory and their living situation is getting under Santana's skin more than ever—because he's just always right there, she says, always, and I needz my Britt time. She's shifted into permanent bitch mode, which actually is pretty much normal for her anyway, and Rachel and Finn are still her favorite targets.

Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury are on a break, whatever that means. Schue has reverted to the irrational, egocentric moron who uses the glee club to live out his fantasies, and Quinn prefers to forget some of the inappropriate songs that he's had them singing lately. Ms. Pillsbury is even more of a basket case than usual—which is a lot.

Kurt is tense and miserable about his future since he received his rejection letter from NYADA and worried about the guy who keeps trying to steal Blaine away from him. Rachel received a rejection letter too, but she's taking it better than Quinn ever imagined she would. Probably because she's already gotten an early acceptance from Tisch at NYU, and it's undoubtedly just the first of many. As it turns out, Quinn hadn't needed to tell her about alternate schools in New York. Rachel had already applied to every one with a drama department. She also applied to OSU, but she isn't planning to enroll there. Finn is—provided he gets his acceptance letter. They aren't really discussing much else concerning the whole after-graduation issue, and it's clearly still a problem for them. Actually, that bit of drama really doesn't bother Quinn at all.

It's Shelby Corcoran reclaiming her former position at Carmel as the coach for Vocal Adrenaline that really causes the shit to hit the fan. Everyone is freaked and depressed and pissed off, because this was supposed to be their year, but now it's looking like Vocal Adrenaline will reclaim their National title—because Shelby doesn't lose. Well, she doesn't lose when she doesn't have Sugar Motta sabotaging her chances. Rachel is just hurt—really, really hurt—and it's kind of hard to watch. She won't talk about it either, not that Quinn has tried to encourage her. She hasn't. Much.

"It doesn't bother me at all, Quinn," Rachel insists again, tapping her pencil against the desk in what Quinn is starting to recognize is a nervous tic.

"Really? You're perfectly okay with Shelby competing against you?"

Rachel spears her with an irritated look. "She isn't competing against me. She's simply doing her job as she was hired to do and coaching another show choir that potentially happens to be our main competition and whom we have yet to defeat. And yes, Quinn," she reiterates, "I am perfectly okay with it."

The pencil is tapping even faster, and Quinn shakes her head, because clearly, this is not okay. "So it hasn't affected your relationship at all?"

The pencil snaps. "She's been understandably busy cleaning up the mess that Goolsby made of Vocal Adrenaline." Rachel rummages through her bag in search of a spare pencil as she distractedly explains that, "I thought it would be best not to encroach on her time any more than absolutely necessary."

"Meaning that you've been avoiding her because you're upset," Quinn deduces haughtily.

Rachel's lips curl into a frown. "I think I liked you better when you were ignoring me."

Quinn chuckles, and Rachel's new pencil starts tapping until their physics teacher makes his appearance. She knows that she really shouldn't be purposely pushing Rachel's buttons like this, but she's learned that it isn't good to keep your emotions bottled up inside, and she's trying to help Rachel vent some of her repressed anger at Shelby before it does some real damage. Quinn's kind of an expert at that.

Shelby's new job is actually kind of a relief to Quinn, because it seems to indicate that she and Beth will be staying in Ohio long-term. Quinn (mostly) decides on OSU, except there's a part of her that's disappointed that she won't be getting out of this god-forsaken state. She wonders how tempted she'll be if she gets an acceptance letter from any of the other schools that she applied to. She does a little research on travel times and prices just in case.

xox

The cheerios win another National championship despite Sue Sylvester's preoccupation with her political campaign. Brittany and Santana both ditch the uniforms as soon as the newest trophy is securely in its case. Things settle down again for a little while. Mercedes finally realizes that her boyfriend is kind of a dick and that his ego and influence hasn't really been doing her any favors. She breaks it off with him after he attacks Sam for flirting with her and promptly starts dating Sam again. Sam claims that the black eye he ended up with is totally worth it.

Mr. Schuester decides on another Finn and Rachel duet at Regionals, and everyone groans and points out that they're zero and two, but he isn't budging. Santana still hasn't forgiven them for last year's loss, and she takes a shot at them immediately.

"My eighty year-old abuela has more musical chemistry with her tube of Ben-Gay than Lurch here has with Cousin It," she snipes, crossing her arms under her breasts. Rachel's posture tenses at the insult, but Santana keeps going. "If they're not grossing out the audience like they did last year, then they're putting them to sleep." Santana smirks evilly and leans forward in her chair, dropping her voice but not low enough for anyone to miss it when she says, "But I bet your lame duets are probably still more exciting than your sex life, right Berry?"

"That's enough, Santana," Mr. Schuester snaps. "Finn and Rachel are our captains, and they deserve a little more respect."

Santana sits back with an unaffected smile, and Rachel sinks down low in her seat. Quinn sneaks glances over at Rachel for the rest of glee, and she notices that Rachel is doing the same thing to Finn, whose cheeks are a splotchy crimson. She thinks that maybe Santana's comments hit a nerve, but she forces those thoughts right out of her mind, because she really, really doesn't want to think about anything to do with Finn and Rachel and sex.

As it turns out, Santana's criticism (about their singing!) proves painfully insightful. At the next glee meeting, Finn and Rachel try out a potential duet for Regionals, and for probably the first time ever, their performance is clumsy and completely unappealing. Finn just kind of shrugs and rubs a hand across the back of neck. "I guess we need more practice," he excuses good-naturedly. Rachel is noticeably upset, and she shakes her head in frustration, storming out of the choir room the second Mr. Schuester dismisses them.

Quinn finds herself at Rachel's locker after she realizes that Finn doesn't seem inclined to follow his girlfriend. "Are you okay?" she asks, because lately she's realizing just how good Rachel is at pretending that nothing is wrong. Quinn is an expert at that too.

"I'm perfectly fine, Quinn," she insists as she slams a few books into her locker and pulls out what she'll need to take home. "What would make you think otherwise?"

"You just seem…kind of off lately," Quinn trails off weakly when Rachel whips her head around and glares at Quinn.

"I am not off," she growls. "I'm never off. Perhaps my duet with Finn today wasn't quite yet up to my high standards, but that doesn't mean that Santana Lopez is in any way correct about our chemis…musical chemistry," she corrects with a scowl.

"I didn't mean…"

"And furthermore," she continues as if Quinn hasn't even spoken, "even if our performance did hypothetically fall flat, which it certainly did not," she rushes out, "it wouldn't be any indication of a problem in our relationship. Because we're fine."

"Okay," Quinn concedes with an arched eyebrow.

Rachel's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Yes, it is okay. I'm okay. Finn's okay. Everything is just…perfectly okay."

"If you say so."

"I do."

They stare at one another in a silent standoff for about twenty seconds, and Quinn feels absolutely ridiculous. "You know, if anything is ever…not okay, you can talk to me, Rach," she offers uncertainly. After all, Rachel's actually proven to be a pretty good friend to her with the whole Beth thing. She feels like it would be good karma to return the favor. And maybe she's also facing up to just how selfish and cruel some of her past behavior has been, especially in regards to Rachel.

Rachel's eyes grow soft and watery, and her lips pull into a tremulous smile. "You…" she laughs quietly to herself and shakes her head. She steps forward and wraps Quinn into an unexpected hug, and Quinn feels a jolt of electricity at the contact, but before she can even process what's happening or lift her limp arms to return the embrace, Rachel is stepping away. "Thank you, Quinn," she whispers. "I'm so glad we're friends."

Quinn nods dumbly and watches Rachel grab her overstuffed bag, close her locker, and walk away. She doesn't even realize that she's grinning until she's halfway home.

xx

A week later, Quinn is rummaging in her locker after watching Finn and Rachel's latest attempt to recapture their musical compatibility fall flat. She's juggling her sketchbook and her coat and digging for her car keys in her bag. She doesn't notice Santana leaning against the wall next to her until she finally closes her locker door.

"Jesus Christ," she yelps, pressing a hand over her racing heart. Santana snickers at the reaction, and Quinn suddenly has more of an appreciation for Rachel's grudge against lurkers. "What do you want, Santana?

"Look, Q. We're seniors. This is our damn victory lap at this school, and I plan to go out on top. I've got my cheerleading title, and now I want one for glee club," she announces, like she didn't try to sabotage their chances four months ago. "We're going to Nationals, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let the puke-fest that is Finchel ruin our chances at winning this year."

"So what? You're going to convince Schuester to bench his stars?" Quinn asks distractedly, looping the strap of her bag diagonally across her body with one hand and draping her coat over her arm.

"No. I'm going to break them up," Santana informs with a wicked grin. "Or rather, you are going to break them up."

Quinn's mouth drops open, and she gapes at Santana like she's lost her mind. "What? No way. I'm so over Finn Hudson, and even if I wasn't, I am not getting in the middle of their drama ever again." She's already gone two rounds and lost both times. "Besides, how exactly is breaking them up going to help our chances at Nationals?"

Santana rolls her eyes dramatically, cocks a hip and crosses her arms. "Because that annoying little diva is our best fucking singer, and she wins competitions for us when she doesn't have a two hundred pound, talent-sucking leech draining her ambition away. Or haven't you noticed that we always lose when she's all happy and in love with Finntolerable?"

Well, actually, Quinn has kind of noticed a pattern there. Finn tells Rachel he loves her before Regionals sophomore year, and they lose. They're fighting at Sectionals last year and on the verge of breaking up, win. Broken up at Regionals, win. Finn says 'I love you' again before Nationals, lose. The win at sectionals this year is the exception that proves the rule, because Finn and Rachel didn't sing together at all.

"Just let it go, Santana. They'll probably end up self-destructing again anyway."

"Well, of course they will," she huffs out, "but I'll be damned if it will be in the middle of a performance. We're going to make sure they implode in a nice, controlled environment this time."

"No, we're not," Quinn stresses, pointing back and forth between herself and Santana. "If you want to try and break them up, be my guest. You could probably even manage to get Finn back into bed," she snaps disdainfully. "God knows he's fickle enough to actually want you again."

"Ah, hello? I'm all about the ladies now," Santana reminds her with a scowl. "And even if I wasn't, I'd never go there with Hudson ever again. Just ew," she grimaces. "He sucked so hard and not in the good way. And while I admit that Berry does have a hot little body and a mouth that inspires lesbian wet-dreams everywhere…"

"Please stop talking," Quinn hisses, feeling her stomach tighten unpleasantly at the hungry look that just came over Santana's face.

"My desire to stuff a knee sock down her throat outweighs any interest I might have in feeling that tongue curl around something other than song lyrics, if you know what I mean," she finishes with a lascivious grin.

"Shut up!" Quinn growls. Her free hand is curled into a fist, and she really wants to punch Santana. If the thought of Rachel with Finn makes her feel nauseous, the images that Santana just provided her with are—they make her want to just— "Just, shut up. You're disgusting."

Santana scoffs. "Yeah, that's totally why you're upset."

"I'm not going after Finn," she reiterates, forcing her fingers to uncurl from her palm before she draws blood.

"I don't want you to," Santana tells her with amusement. "I want you to go after Rachel."

Quinn is stunned. She feels like all the air just got sucked out of her lungs and that tight feeling in her stomach is making her want to double over and curl into a little ball in the middle of the empty hallway. It feels like dread. She remembers feeling something like this when she'd first realized how late her period was sophomore year, but she doesn't understand why she's feeling it now.

"Excuse me?" she finally manages to grate out between clenched teeth. "What the hell does that even mean?

Santana shakes her head, and sighs dramatically. "Don't be dense, Fabray. Totally embrace the don't give a fuck attitude you've been sporting this year and get your fat ass the rest of the way out of that deep, dark closet you've been hiding in."

Quinn tries to swallow around the sudden dryness in her throat. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on!" Santana throws her hands up in exasperation. "You're gay, Q."

Quinn sucks in a quick breath and frantically checks the hallway for anyone who might have overheard. She thanks God that it's late enough in the afternoon that the school is all but abandoned. "No. I'm not," she says forcefully. Because she isn't. She likes guys. Maybe no one in particular recently, but she's had a lot going on in her life this year. She had a baby, for God's sake. You can't get much straighter than that.

"You so totally are," Santana argues, holding up her hand and starting to tick off her points. "Gay haircut, gay clothes," she swipes her other hand down, indicating Quinn's attire, "with your plaid and your blue jeans," and Quinn glances down at herself in confusion, because she doesn't think there's anything particularly gay about what she's wearing. "Gay messenger bag, gay stance," Santana points down to Quinn's spread legs and cocked hip, "gay pencil behind your ear." Santana reaches up and plucks the pencil away with a frown. "What the fuck, Quinn?" She tosses it over her shoulder, and Quinn scowls, because that was one of her good charcoals. "Even joining the damned art club. Totally gay. You're practically a walking cliché."

What Quinn is, is pissed. "I am not." she spits, poking a finger hard into Santana's chest. "And you're one to talk. You freak out anytime someone tries to toss some stereotype at you because you're a lesbian, and here you are accusing me of being gay just because I'm done with the frilly dresses and trying to be someone that I'm not."

"And because you check out other girls' asses in the hallway," Santana points out haughtily, crossing her arms again and smirking.

"I-I do not."

"Uh, yes, you do," Santana stresses. "All the damn time. And I used to catch you perving on me in the showers after cheerios' practices. Not that I blame you. I am the hottest girl in school."

Quinn's nails are digging into her palm again, and she really thinks she might be drawing blood this time. She has never, ever—okay, maybe once. Or—or twice? Just to compare. That's normal, right? Of course it is.

"You're insane."

Santana shrugs. "And all those wistful little looks when you see me and Britt get our cuddle on."

"Because I'm envious that you have someone, not because…you know…"

"And you totally never wanted to have sex with any of your boyfriends."

"I had sex with Puckerman and ended up pregnant," Quinn reminds her forcefully. "I'm not exactly in a rush to repeat that experience, thank you very much."

Santana waves a dismissive hand. "Please, doing Puckerman is, like, every sexually confused girl's right of passage or something. He can be a jerk, yeah, but he knows his way around lady parts. If he doesn't rev your engine then you ain't got a chance in hell of getting out of park with any of the other vanilla guys in Lima."

"My God," Quinn breathes. "I'm actually insulted on Puck's behalf."

"Did you at least get off with him?"

Quinn blanches. "Don't be vulgar. And it's none of your business."

"Just answer the question, Quinn. Did you like having sex with him?"

She hadn't really. It started out okay with the kissing. She'd felt pretty and thin and sexy and…desired. And physically, she'd felt more with Puck than she ever had with Finn, which wasn't really saying much, but maybe part of that was because he was the forbidden fruit. Puck was exciting, and, "I was drunk," she says flatly.

Santana shakes her head again. "You had, like, three wine coolers. You were hardly drunk."

"I was on the cheerios' diet. I was already half out of my mind with hunger." It's not really a lie. Those wine coolers had gone to her head so fast, and she'd felt kind of warm and fuzzy. She still can't say for sure how much of it was the alcohol and how much was actually Puck.

"Fine, I'll concede it would have been a crappy first time regardless, but there's no way you're ever going to make me believe that you actually wanted Sam or Finn for more than a nice piece of arm candy around the school and a suitable king for your whacked out, prom queen fantasy."

"That doesn't make me gay, Santana. I'm just…not that into sex, I guess," Quinn admits with a sad shrug. She's really not much into physical contact of any kind, apart from holding her daughter—well, until recently anyway, and that's only really been with Rach— Oh.

"Ay, dios mio," Santana huffs in irritation. "You're so fucking repressed."

Before Quinn really registers what's happening, Santana has stepped into her personal space and has her hand curled around Quinn's neck. "What the hell!" she demands, grabbing at Santana's wrist and trying to step back.

"Just fucking go with it," Santana commands sharply, and then her mouth is over Quinn's. Quinn's first instinct is to push her away, and she drops her coat and sketchbook to press her open palms to Santana's shoulders in an impotent attempt to do just that, but Santana is quick and on a mission. Her free arm curls around Quinn's waist to pull her hips forward, and her tongue darts out to slide over Quinn's lower lip. Quinn feels an unwanted jolt of arousal at the contact, and her lips part on a quiet gasp. Santana deepens the kiss, and oh—holy mother of— Kissing her boyfriend's never felt like this!

The minute Santana feels Quinn start to give in and kiss her back, she breaks away with a cocky smirk, giving Quinn a thorough once over. "Hmm, blown out pupils, racing heart, hard nipples. I bet you're wet too."

It feels like a slap across the face, because, damn it—she thinks she actually is. "Fuck you."

Santana laughs. "You wish."

"I'm not…I'm not gay," but her voice isn't nearly as confident as she wants it to be.

"Keep telling yourself that, Q. And when you're done banging your head off the back of the closet wall, come and find me. We have some major scheming get up on."

Santana saunters off victoriously, but Quinn doesn't even notice. She doesn't know how long she stands in the empty hallway staring into nothing with her coat and sketchbook lying on the floor at her feet. She doesn't realize that her arms are crossed defensively over her stomach and her shoulders are shaking with quite sobs or that tiny drops of moisture are dripping off her chin and onto her plaid collar.

She isn't gay. She can't be. She won't be.

xx

Quinn doesn't remember driving home. She doesn't remember walking silently through the front door and past her mother and up the stairs or collapsing face down onto her bed and sobbing into her pillow. She does remember finally turning over onto her back and staring at the ceiling for an hour, trying desperately to forget the taste of Santana's lip-gloss and the way her body had reacted. It doesn't mean anything. She'd been upset and caught off guard, and she knows—she knows—that she wouldn't react that way a second time.

She's had two boyfriends—and Puck. She's been kissed hundreds of time. She's had sex—kind of bad sex, admittedly—but not enjoying it doesn't make her gay. So what if she's never really understood what the big deal is? She just hasn't met the right guy yet. Or maybe God is just punishing her for breaking her vow of celibacy when she was sixteen. Maybe she needs to wait until she's married (to a man!) and consummating a union blessed by God and the church before she'll be able to enjoy sex.

Her mind spins back to middle school—to Lucy. She remembers ducking down her head in embarrassment as she listened to the other girls in her classes giggling about cute boys and movie stars that they were crushing on, feeling like something was wrong with her because she didn't really get what they were talking about. She'd thought it was just a side effect of being overweight and feeling unattractive—that she had somehow shut that part of herself down because she felt unworthy of being loved. Then she remembers the semi-obsession she used to (still does) have with Eliza Dushku and how she'd worn out her sister's copy of Bring It On because she watched it so many times. Her parents had thought it was cute that she wanted so badly to be a cheerleader like her big sister, Abby. Quinn suddenly feels sick, because she knows that wasn't why she was watching. She's up and into the bathroom in a heartbeat, hanging over the toilet and losing the contents of her stomach.

Now that the door is open one little crack, Quinn is forced to look deeper. She stays on the bathroom floor in case she needs to vomit again, because she thinks Santana might be right. Her eyes have strayed more than she ever realized. She doesn't consciously remember doing it, but she knows that she must have, because she knows that Santana has a mole on her back just above her left butt cheek. And she knows Brittany waxes everything. She knows the cup-size of every cheerio on the squad, freshman through junior years. She knows Mack has the word freedom tattooed in black courier font on her left rib just below her breast because some of the halter-tanks that she favored all summer had ridden high enough to play peak-a-boo. And she knows Rachel has a scar on her forehead that she has always wanted to ask about and a beauty mark on her left cheek, another under her right eye, and a dimple in her right cheek when she smiles.

And yeah, Quinn is retching again, with more tears slipping down over her cheeks.

She doesn't want this. She doesn't want to know these things about other girls—or about herself. She's already such a mess, and she can't deal with this too. She's finally getting her life back on track. She's bonding with Beth and forming real friendships with Puck and—and Rachel, and she's planning on college. God, she's actually making progress with Judy and Russell. She doesn't want any of that to go away.

She doesn't want to be kicked out of her house again—or her church. She's already sinned with Puck, and she was punished for that a hundred times over. This sin will be so much worse, because it isn't something she's done but something she is.

She can't be gay.

xx

Quinn skips school the next day, claiming illness. Her mother believes her immediately because Quinn honestly looks like death warmed over. She lost every bit of food in her body the night before and then some, and she'd only managed maybe an hour of sleep, broken up by hours of crying and restless tossing and turning. Judy goes to work and leaves Quinn on the couch tucked under a blanket with the television remote. She eventually manages to drift off to sleep, but her dreams are filled with jumbled images of cheerios dancing around her on a stage while Santana, wearing overalls, spins around a stripper pole, and Rachel Berry, in little red booty shorts and a skimpy black tank top, sings I Feel Pretty with a giant German Shepherd at her heels.

She startles awake to the chirping of her cell phone, and when she glances at the screen, she sees a message flashing from Rachel. Her finger's tremble over the buttons as she calls up the text, and she doesn't know why. It's not like Rachel could know what thoughts have been running around in her head.

Quinn, I hope you're feeling better. Let me know if you need your assignments. Or anything. See you Monday? ~RBB

Quinn wants to cry.

There's a part of her that wants nothing more than to dial Rachel's number and beg her to come over—to tell her every secret and fear and fall into her arms and hear her say that everything will be okay, because she thinks she might actually believe it if Rachel says it. Rachel is a good person, and she's proud to be raised by two gay men, so it can't be completely evil. Can it? Quinn hits a speed-dial button and shakily holds the phone to her ear. "R-Reverend Ellis…it's Quinn Fabray," she chokes out. "Do you think you can see me this weekend?"

xx

They sit in his office for ten minutes in silence. Reverend Ellis never prompts discussions in their one-on-ones, not like in the family sessions. Quinn would be paying hundreds of dollars to waste this kind of time with a secular therapist. She doesn't know how to begin, and she's thinking that she acted rashly even calling him. What she really wants is to beg him to fix her.

"Quinn," he says after another two minutes pass, "I know we've covered this before, but whatever you say in these private sessions is strictly confidential unless you specifically grant me permission to discuss something in family counseling, just as your father has with many of the points we've covered."

Quinn realizes that she must be broadcasting her terror pretty loudly for him to remind her of his policy, and she sucks in a deep breath and releases it slowly in an attempt to compose herself. "I…um…I w-wanted to…to t-talk…ah…ask about the church's views on…um…homosexuality."

His bushy eyebrows arch slightly, and he nods. "I see."

Panic washes back over her in full force, and she stammers, "I…I have a f-friend…actually, a couple of friends…who are…um…g-gay," which is technically true, but she still feels like a liar for taking the easy way out. "And I…ah…d-don't really know how to…approach everything. With them," she adds on quickly.

He's quiet for a moment as he studies her (undoubtedly red) face. "Are you having a difficult time reconciling their sexuality with your own beliefs?"

"It's a sin," she mutters, eyes turned down into her lap where her fingers are twisting together with nervous energy.

"Traditionally, yes," he agrees, "the Bible does have some very specific verses condemning the practice of homosexuality." Quinn nods, because she's heard them quoted often enough in the past.

"Leviticus," Quinn whispers.

"Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind; it is abomination," he recites. "It's probably the most notorious clobber passage. But Quinn," he prompts, waiting until she looks up to meet his eyes before he smiles encouragingly, "Levitical Law also condemns adultery by death and forbids anyone from going anywhere on the Sabbath. That means everyone who's ever attended a professional football game on a Sunday is breaking God's law," he tells her with a grin. "Leviticus was written thousands of years ago, and most of those laws just aren't applicable to our society anymore. That's the problem with picking and choosing Bible verses out of their original context. That isn't to say that we should discard all of the principles that we find there, but we have to remember that, essentially, the Bible is a collection of poetry, allegories, and metaphors written by many different authors, translated into English, and edited together by many different churches over time. We should think of it more as a guidebook on how to follow God's laws and live righteously than as a step by step instruction manual."

Quinn swallows thickly. "But either way, being gay is still wrong."

Reverend Ellis shakes his head. "Technically, it's the practice of homosexuality that is considered the sin, but the Church is continuously debating on how to best reconcile official doctrine with the changing needs and lifestyles of its parishioners. The Presbyterian Church now recognizes sexuality as part of a person's core identity, not a lifestyle choice, and it follows in the tradition of being inclusive of all races and genders. In fact, did you know that just last year, the Church voted to allow homosexuals to be ordained into its ministry?"

Quinn's eyes widen, because she hadn't known. "Really?"

He smiles and nods in confirmation. "Yes. There are more conservative sects that don't choose to accept doctrine, of course, and they still condemn homosexuality and attempt to reform repentant sinners. But overall, the church welcomes gays and lesbians, and while we don't officially permit same-sex unions or explicitly support the consummation of them, we do offer blessings to those who choose to join together in those unions."

Reverend Ellis's smile is kind, and Quinn feels herself shyly returning it as she digests everything he's told her. It helps, so much more than she imagined it could, just to know that she would still be accepted in this Church that's she's grown to love if she—if she really—

"As a pastor, I adhere to the laws of my Church," he tells her seriously, interrupting her thoughts, "but as a person of faith," he leans forward and catches her eyes, "I don't believe that God make mistakes, Quinn. Every person in this world is made as God intended, and I believe that they are led to love as he intended. Accepting that love, in whatever form, can only be living as he intended." He smiles in a way that tells Quinn it doesn't matter if she's telling him everything or not. "If your friends have looked inside themselves and discovered that God has placed them on this alternate path, then they shouldn't be afraid or ashamed. God loves all his children, and he asks us to love one another as he does."

Quinn brushes away the stray tear on her left cheek and nods. She kind of wants to hug him, but she doesn't really think it's appropriate. She's still terrified and confused and wishing she could just go back to being blissfully ignorant of her possible inclinations, but she takes comfort from the hope that Reverend Ellis has given her. She doesn't have to lose her faith again, even if she's still struggling to find her identity.

xx

She spends the rest of the weekend thinking—about everything. Every one of her past thoughts and actions is reexamined to figure out if she's been missing obvious signs. She's already pretty much accepted that she notices other girls' bodies, so she chooses not to revisit that again. Instead, she thinks about boys. She knows she never had crushes like other girls. She'd chosen to date both Finn and Sam for predominantly mercenary reasons—the cute, popular jock to play opposite her head cheerleader and complete the stereotypical high school power couple. It had been so easy to put off their sexual advances—first with Celibacy Club and then with the mention of an unplanned pregnancy that she never wanted to repeat—and stopping cold in the middle a make-out session had never once left her hot and bothered. Sleeping with Puck had been more exciting in theory than in practice. She thinks she'd felt something, but in retrospect, not nearly enough to justify giving him her virginity. She's never been tempted to repeat the experience.

Quinn only has one rushed, unexpected kiss with Santana to use as a base for a possible sexual attraction to girls. She hates that it might be enough. She hates that Santana turned her on faster than any of her boyfriends ever had. She hates that the tingling she'd felt in her belly reminds her exactly of the tingles she feels every time she hears Rachel sing. She hates wondering if the jealousy she always experiences at the thought of Rachel and Finn together was ever really about Finn at all.

She doesn't want to think about what it might mean. She's not ready for any of this. Her life is so screwed up already—with her parents and Beth, with the giant question mark looming over college, and with all of the anger, regret, and self-hatred that she hasn't completely worked through yet. She can't handle having one more issue to add to the already overflowing pot.

She just—can't.

xx

By Monday, Quinn has neatly compartmentalized all thoughts on her sexuality and shelved them for later reexamination—preferably sometime after college. Maybe. At least she thinks she has, until Rachel walks into their first class wearing a sinfully short dress that hugs her in all the right places, and Quinn realizes that her eyes are traveling over all those places, lingering on bare legs and—fuck you very much, Santana Lopez! She doesn't need to notice herself noticing these things. She wishes (again) that Santana had kept her mouth shut and let her continue living unaware.

Rachel sits next to Quinn (of course) and looks her over with soft smile. She bites her lower lip thoughtfully—and damn it, Quinn doesn't want to know that she's noticing how plump that lip is! "Are you feeling better?" Rachel asks, eyebrows drawing together in concern. "I was a little worried when you didn't answer my text, but then…it wasn't exactly unprecedented," she adds with a frown, and Quinn feels even worse because she never really has given Rachel a reason to expect more from her than to be ignored. "But you're back today and you look…well, actually, you still look a little flushed."

Quinn sucks in a breath and forces a smile, but she doesn't delude herself that it's at all convincing. "I'm fine, Rachel. I just…think I caught one of those three day bugs or something," or a case of gay panic from Santana.

"You didn't see Beth while you were contagious, did you?" Rachel asks worriedly. "I've read that babies and toddlers are highly susceptible to germs. In fact, I was very happy to find out that Shelby opted to have a nanny stay with Beth when she's working rather than using a day care facility, as those are notorious cesspools of disease."

Quinn really can't help being charmed, and her smile turns genuine. Rachel has no other reason to be reading up on babies except for her tenuous connection to Beth, and Quinn likes knowing that Rachel cares about her daughter—Shelby's daughter—that much. "Don't worry. Beth is completely healthy. I just stayed in all weekend and," cried, raged, screamed into her pillow as she freaked out, "rested. I'm sorry I didn't text you back, but," she trails off, not really having an excuse.

"It's okay, Quinn. You don't owe me any explanations. I'm just glad you're feeling well enough to be back in school. I…I missed you on Friday," she finishes quietly, and—damn it, that tingling in her belly is back again, and Quinn really, really, doesn't want it to mean what she's afraid it could mean.

She spends the rest of the class focusing all her attention on the lesson and ignoring Rachel's presence beside her and the sweet scent of her body spray. The cycle repeats in every class she shares with Rachel—and her one with a smirking Santana and her government class with Christina Fredericks, who's overly fond of wearing low-cut blouses. But Quinn isn't noticing that.

New Directions has a rehearsal after school, and Finn and Rachel haven't really improved on their duet since last Thursday, so they're working on a group number instead. Quinn is so paranoid that Santana will notice her eyes wandering to places that they shouldn't that she overcompensates by looking at her own feet the entire time. As a result, she's missing cues and bumping into people, and Mr. Schuester has to stop them three times because of Quinn. By the third time, he's clearly frustrated, snapping impatiently at her, and Rachel glares at him before she settles a comforting hand on Quinn's arm and asks her if she's feeling sick again. Now that they're friends, Quinn is learning that Rachel is very touchy-feely with the people she feels close to, and Quinn eases away from her touch and ignores the little flash of hurt on her face. This time, she doesn't miss the way the Santana is looking at them.

Quinn hightails it out of rehearsal as soon as Schuester dismisses them. She spends the rest of the evening at Shelby's playing with Beth, and her mind is blissfully distracted from everything that isn't directly related to her daughter. She gets the first good night of sleep that she's had in four days.

xx

She's expecting the confrontation, so she's not surprised when Santana appears beside her locker first thing in the morning. "So, you ready to accept your lady loving ways and go win yourself a tiny, annoying girlfriend?"

Quinn's body immediately goes rigid. "Would you be quiet!" she growls, looking around the semi-crowded hallway to see if anyone can hear them.

"Oh, get over it. Nobody's listening," Santana assures her carelessly. "Besides, I'm pretty sure the entire student body can already see you've gone butch," she nods at Quinn's attire—form fitting Capri pants and pink polo shirt today. "And anyway, most of them think you're a psycho serial killer or something, so I doubt they'll fuck with you."

"I'm in therapy for that," Quinn informs her angrily, slamming her locker shut. "And I'm way more femme than you," she says with a glare.

Santana snickers. "Is that an admission?"

"No!" Quinn barks, finally drawing the attention of a couple of freshmen standing a few feet away. She grabs Santana's arm, digs her nails in, and drags the girl into the nearest empty classroom, closing the door behind them. "Even if you're right…and I'm not saying you are," she rushes out, "there'd be no way I'd be doing…that…with Rachel Berry."

Santana pries her arm free, and shakes her head as she smooths out the wrinkles in the sleeve of her designer jacket. "Why not? You obviously want her."

"I do not!" she insists, even though her belly is doing this weird tumbling thing at the thought of—no, not thinking about it.

Santana leans back against a nearby desk and crosses her arms. "Don't try to bullshit me, Quinn. You look at her the way she used to look at Finn when she was creepy-ass stalking him."

Quinn's gaze lifts to the ceiling tile in the far corner to avoid Santana's knowing eyes. "Because I envy her, okay? I want what she has." And that isn't a lie. Quinn has known for a while now that she's more than a little jealous of Rachel's talent, her irrepressible spirit, and her strength of character. "I don't want her," she swears. "And if by some insane chance I did, that would be really masochistic of me, wouldn't it?" she questions, even though she's not really expecting Santana to answer. "She's in love with Finn. She's completely straight. And she'll never forget what a total bitch I've been to her."

"I'll give you maybe one out of three."

Quinn's attention goes back to a grinning Santana. "Huh?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "First of all, it doesn't matter what a bitch you've been in the past. In case you haven't noticed, the girl has been trying to make nice with you for four years now. The minute you were even a little bit nice back to her, you became her new best friend forever," she says in a mocking, sickly sweet tone.

Quinn feels her cheeks heat. "Maybe, but we're not talking about friendship here."

"Ya gots to start somewhere, bitch."

"No, I don't. It wouldn't even matter," Quinn tells her. "She's with Finn," and God, please don't let her voice be sounding as miserable as she thinks it does.

Santana scoffs. "Finneffective will be a total non-issue once you turn on that Fabray charm. Rachel is going to New York after graduation. Hudson is already bleeding scarlet and gray," she says in reference to the Ohio State University colors. "And despite the fact that they supposedly had this big, nauseatingly fluffy, epic first time together, I'm getting the vibe that the jolly lame giant is not exactly hitting all the right notes in the bedroom. No way Berrylicious doesn't already have doubts about them going the distance."

Not for the first time, Quinn wonders exactly why Santana seems to pay so much attention to Rachel and Finn and their relationship. Sure, Quinn's sort of noticed the complete lack of passion between the couple lately, but only because she's finally on good terms with Rachel and in a position to—okay, so she pays too much attention to them too. It doesn't have to mean that she has more than friendly feelings for Rachel Berry. God help her if she does, because—

"Santana. Are you forgetting the part where Rachel is straight?"

"Okay," Santana drawls, "you really need a better gaydar if you're ever gonna get lucky with the ladies."

"Please don't even try to tell me Rachel Berry is a closeted lesbian too."

Santana shakes her head. "No, she likes guys." Quinn experiences a pang of disappointment at her no-nonsense answer. "I mean, she's all up on Hudson's junk now, but that doesn't necessarily make her straight, Q. There are a lot of colors on the rainbow flag."

Quinn instantly rejects the possibility, because it's just too much. "I think you need your gaydar inspected. Rachel's never shown any interest in girls."

"She's more subtle than you are, I'll give her that," Santana allows with a shrug, "but I know for a fact she's inclined to swing on both sides of the fence."

"How the hell would you know that for a fact?" she demands, not at all liking where her thoughts are taking her. She has this hazy memory of Santana shouting 'I want you, I do' while Blaine and Rachel were drunkenly singing at her party last year, and Quinn's ninety-nine percent certain that Santana wasn't talking about Blaine.

"I have my ways."

"Did you…?"

"No," Santana cuts in quickly. "Jesus, if I had, all I'd need to do is tell Frankenteen that I scored his girlfriend's lesbian v-card and mission accomplished."

"Then how?"

"You can't just take my word for it?" Quinn's eyebrow quirks, and she directs an incredulous glare at Santana, who grins in response. "Okay, okay. I see your point. Well…you know Britts kind of wanted to make out with everyone in the school…?"

Quinn swallows down the sudden taste of bile and whispers, "Rachel?"

Santana nods. "Yeah, sophomore year. Right after St. Jackass egged her in the parking lot. Britt wanted to make the midget feel better or something, and I guess it got pretty intense."

Quinn purses her lips and jerks her head in a quick nod. "That…that doesn't mean anything," she argues, "It's Brittany. She…she's just got that appeal," Quinn excuses, because it's the truth. Brittany can be kind of bitchy and extremely dense, but she can also be really sweet when she wants to be and surprisingly seductive. Quinn had even been tempted to kiss her once during freshmen year, but—well, Quinn guesses that she's probably not the best example, all things considered.

"B told me that Berry was totally into it, and my girl knows her stuff," Santana reveals proudly. "Besides, my gaydar is spot-on, thank you very much, and Rachel's been on it since middle school. Face it. Your girl crush is bi-curious at the very least." A wicked grin overtakes Santana's face. "Hell, if I wasn't head over heels for Brittany, I'd be so totally on that fine ass, and I guarantee it would only take one night and she'd be dropping Hudson so fast he'd feel like he got sacked by a Mack truck."

Quinn has known Santana for close to four years now, and she knows the tone of voice and facial expression that she uses when she's being purposely facetious or trying to provoke a reaction—the way she had last week. She isn't doing that now. Santana would honestly have sex with Rachel if she had the chance, and that bothers Quinn more than any snide remark in the girl's repertoire. "I thought you'd rather stuff a sock in her mouth," she reminds her sourly.

Santana straightens off the desk and cocks her hip. "I didn't say I wanted to talk to her, Q. Or, like, date her," she huffs. "Straight up honest, though? And don't you ever repeat this or I will end you." Her voice goes serious. "I wouldn't kick Rachel out of my bed, okay? She's hot, and she's going places, you know? She's a fucking catch, and you could do a lot worse. Hell, you have done worse. This shouldn't even be a decision, Quinn. I'm telling you that you have a real, honest-to-God chance at getting Rachel Berry, and you're fucking stupid if you don't take it."

Quinn's breath catches, and she stares at Santana, shocked beyond belief to realize that the girl is actually being sincere. In her own, fucked up, insane way, she thinks she's helping Quinn. She wants to scream, because they aren't supposed to be having this conversation. Santana is still supposed to be sleeping her way through the football, baseball, and hockey teams, and Quinn is supposed to be boringly happy with the most popular boy in school and voted most likely to marry her high school sweetheart. That's who they were when they were freshmen. They're not supposed to be talking about how to pick up girls.

She squeezes her eyes closed and tries to get control of her breathing. "I'm barely keeping it together as it is, Santana," she pushes out around the lump in her throat. "God, I'm finally starting to feel like a functional human being, and you have to go and start this shit with me," she accuses angrily. "I can't go down this path. Not now. I need to put myself first. I'm sorry, S, but if you want to plot against the happy couple," she spits sarcastically, "you need to leave me out of it."

Quinn is out of the room and racing down the hall before Santana can respond. She ends up on the bleachers again, shivering in the frigid, winter air, and mentally scrambling to get all of these inappropriate thoughts back into their box and onto the shelf. It's not like the Rachel Berry question isn't already constantly coming up on its own. She didn't need Santana to point it out. And she definitely didn't need to know that Santana Lopez has secretly had the hots for Rachel all these years. It makes her simultaneously want to vomit and punch something, preferably Santana.

Quinn knows that, deep down, she's always felt some…connection…to Rachel. Something always keeps pulling her into Rachel's orbit, and for so long, she cursed it as bad luck or her own personal version of hell, but she can't keep pretending that it isn't happening and that it doesn't mean anything. They've been circling one another for four years now, and Finn Hudson isn't the reason.

When she first buried Lucy Caboosey and remade herself into Quinn, the only thing that she really wanted was to be accepted. If she was pretty and popular, then everyone would like her, and she'd have friends, and no one would ever tease her or bully her again. She went to cheerleading camp the summer before freshman year and made the squad, but she was still Lucy on the inside—quiet, shy, and watchful and terrified that someone would realize that she was still a loser underneath the new nose and newly thin body.

On the first day of school, in her very first class, she'd met Rachel Berry for the first time. The teacher alphabetized the seating by first names instead of last, and Quinn, in her brand new cheerios uniform, ended up sitting next to a tiny brunette in a plaid skirt, knee socks, and a hideous sweater vest. She knew from the very beginning that Rachel was a geek, but Quinn still had enough of Lucy left in her to smile politely and introduce herself. They immediately struck up a conversation about Jane Austen, because Quinn had a well-worn, dog-eared copy of Pride & Prejudice tucked into her binder, and Rachel had spotted it right away. She was exceedingly verbose from the get go, but Quinn (who'd never ever had a classmate even acknowledge her before unless it was with an insult) had been charmed.

For two weeks, Quinn sat next to Rachel in English and listened to her talk about every topic, from her dads to her music to Broadway to her secret love of science fiction. Yes, Rachel talked about herself excessively, but Quinn really didn't mind then, because she rarely talked at all, and it was kind of nice just to listen. Rachel had a very musical voice. Quinn found out just how musical on the fourth day of school when she made it a point to duck her head inside the auditorium when she knew Rachel would be there practicing. She'd known immediately that all of Rachel's big talk about making it to Broadway wasn't just bragging but an honest to God fact. She was going to be a star, and Quinn was a little bit in awe of her. Maybe a little too much so, because a few days later, Santana noticed a friendly smile and a shy wave between the two girls in the hallway and immediately warned her away from Rachel.

"Why are you smiling at her? She's a self-centered, egotistical little freak with two gay dads. You need to stay away from her."

"I think she's kind of nice."

"Listen up, Q. Don't get sucked in by her cute, innocent smiles and puppy-dog eyes. She's a Broadway obsessed loser, and she'll drag you right down to the bottom of the social ladder if you let her."

Quinn didn't know why Santana had such a problem with Rachel, but she nodded mutely and agreed because she didn't want any problems with her new life in her new school. She did her best to avoid acknowledging Rachel in the hallways, but she didn't stop enjoying their little conversations in English class. She told herself no one had to know. That all changed when Stephanie Watson, the senior cheerio captain, cornered her after practice one day and asked why she was hanging around the fag-spawn. "Did she infect you with her gay already, Fabray? Or should we call you Fab-gay, instead? You know, we don't allow dykes on the squad."

It was like a switch had been flipped inside of Quinn. That awful word dropped like a rock into her stomach and turned it sour. Stephanie might as well have reached into her, pulled out Lucy, and held her up for everyone to see. Quinn couldn't—wouldn't—go back to being taunted every day and made into an outcast. It wasn't supposed to happen this time. So she'd denied everything, called Rachel a tranny freak, and proven to her fellow cheerios how much she didn't care about Rachel Berry by dousing her with her very first slushy the next morning. Quinn still remembers the look of complete shock and humiliation on Rachel's face. She can still see the hurt shimmering in big, brown eyes. Quinn felt so disgusted with herself that she ended up in a bathroom, hunched over a toilet and losing her breakfast. That was the first and last slushy that Quinn ever threw personally, but for Rachel, it was the first of many. Quinn hates herself for that.

And now she gets the pleasure of recognizing that moment as her very first case of gay panic. Some part of her must have recognized the truth in Stephanie's accusation, even then. Everything that's come after that—every de-feminizing nickname, every pornographic drawing (and, oh boy, she finally understands just what Mack finds so damned funny about those), every minute Quinn spent stalking Rachel's MySpace page for a new video (and left hateful comments to justify listening to the whole song every time), every visceral reaction to hearing Rachel sing, every past attempt to keep her far away from Finn Hudson—suddenly takes on a new meaning.

Quinn understands exactly why Santana came to her, but it doesn't change anything. Rachel is in love with Finn—and Quinn isn't ready, willing, or able to act on feelings that she's only just realized might have always been buried inside of her.

And she doesn't know if she ever will be.


	4. Determination

**Part IV: Determination**

* * *

Note to self, sitting outside on the bleachers for an extended period of time in early March in Ohio without a coat is not actually conducive to your health. Quinn finds this out the hard way. Or maybe God decided to punish her for the little white lie she told to avoid dealing with the really big lie she's apparently been living for eighteen years. She can't help it if she still falls back on that automatic reflex—believing that she's being punished. That's part of why she's in therapy after all. In any case, the twenty minutes that she'd spent shivering in the cold in an attempt to escape Santana and evade Rachel result in a killer head cold. She ends up missing two days of school because she's legitimately ill, but not before she pretty much negates every little bit of progress she's made with Rachel since the start of the year.

Denial. Self-loathing. Hopelessness.

It sucks.

Quinn is currently buried underneath her sheets with a dehumidifier humming on her nightstand and a box of Kleenex on the mattress next to her. It's Friday afternoon, and she's replaying Tuesday in her mind and all the stupid mistakes she made—like even talking to Santana to begin with, like deciding to run outside into the cold like a moron, like skipping her first class with Rachel because she was afraid she'd somehow give something away in her emotionally fragile state, like pretty much acting like a cruel, heartless bitch when she finally did see her.

Rachel was only trying to be nice, asking after Quinn's health again after she'd disappeared the day before and hadn't shown up for their first shared class, and Quinn had gone and told her to stop stalking her every move, because what she did and where she went really wasn't any of Rachel's business. It was freshman year all over again, but so much worse, because Quinn had purposely destroyed months of friendship instead of mere weeks for no other reason than that she was suddenly aware that being close to Rachel was making her feel things that she didn't want to feel.

On Wednesday, Quinn had woken up with a scratchy throat and watery eyes, but she'd trudged to school anyway, stupidly thinking that she could forget all about the day before and pretend it hadn't happened. And she could have really, because, for once, Rachel was the one avoiding Quinn. She'd purposely taken a seat across the room from Quinn in three of their four classes—it would have been all four except that they had assigned seats in World History that placed Quinn a row behind Rachel. She never turned around once, and it hurt more than Quinn ever expected. She hadn't realized how much she'd come to look forward to her daily interaction with Rachel until she'd thoughtlessly ruined it.

Stupid. Self-destructive. Bitch.

"Hey, bitch."

Quinn's heavy eyes fly open, and she manages to lift her head from the pillow, dragging the sheet down from under her red nose. She really hopes she's having a nightmare and that Santana Lopez isn't actually standing in the middle of her bedroom. When a bag is carelessly tossed onto the bed, landing heavily on her leg, she knows that she isn't dreaming.

"Brought your assignments," Santana explains.

Quinn opens her mouth to ask her who the hell she thinks she is, just barging in like this, but a fit of coughing and wheezing replaces the words she'd rather be hurling. A grimace passes over Santana's features, and she takes a step back to put a little more distance between herself and the germs.

"Wow, you're, like, actually sick this time. I thought you were just hiding out 'cause you didn't want to deal with your lesbian drama." Santana pulls the chair away from Quinn's computer desk and drops into it, crossing her legs and getting comfortable like she doesn't plan to leave anytime soon. Quinn drags herself into a semi-sitting position on her bed and plucks out another two Kleenex to wipe at her now dripping nose.

"If you're here to torment me some more," she croaks hoarsely, "you can just leave now."

"Nah…that's only fun when you can fight back."

"Go away," she tries again.

Santana regards her evenly. "You really didn't have a clue, did you?"

Quinn doesn't need to ask what she's referring to, and she shakes her head in the negative. "Did you?" she asks. "Before…?"

"Brittany?" Santana completes with an arch of a dark brow, and she sighs at Quinn's nod. "Yeah…I kinda did, but I didn't want to think about it, you know?" Quinn does, and she can see that this isn't especially easy for Santana, even now. "So I went all in with the guys 'cause that was normal, right?" Santana shrugs. "Better to be a slut than a lesbian. I was fucking miserable, Quinn, but there was no way I was coming out and getting drenched in slushies and tossed into dumpsters every day. I mean, come on, I am way too fine for that shit," she says, waving a hand in front of her toned body to make her point, and Quinn smiles a little at Santana being Santana.

"So, I get it, okay? The whole gay panic and self-hatred thing….I was you last year," Santana tells her honestly, and Quinn's fingers twist into the sheet draped over her lap. She doesn't know if she should feel better or worse about the comparison. "I freaked the hell out when Brittany tried to push me to deal with everything before I was ready, and…I kind of love her…so of course you're pissed at me. I did to you exactly what I hated having done to me. And I'm…you know," she rolls her eyes and turns her head away as she hurriedly mumbles, "sorry or whatever."

Quinn feels the urge to look at the label on her cough medicine to see if hallucinations are a side-effect, because this is just too surreal. "Okay," she manages.

Santana nods, absently twisting the chair back and forth. "Yeah, so if you, like, need to talk or something," she begins uncomfortably, and then she shakes herself out of it and grins wickedly. "Or we could just drive to Columbus and pick up chicks."

Quinn's incredulous laugh quickly turns into another coughing jag, and when she catches her breath, she chokes out, "You're worse than Puck."

"Oh, chica, I'm so much better than him, you have no idea," Santana drawls in sultry tones. "Seriously, though, Q. I know we haven't been close for a while now, but I've been where you are, and I guess I just want you to know that it actually does get better."

Quinn is glad that her cold gives her a convenient excuse to dab at her eyes and nose. She isn't crying. Not yet, but she's sort of on the verge, and this isn't something she wants to do in front of Santana. She still can't quite allow her walls to come down completely, but for the first time in a long time, she feels like she and Santana might actually have a shot at a real friendship. Maybe that's why the words come slipping out uncensored. "You only think it's better because you finally got the girl."

Santana huffs and rolls her eyes. "Okay, let's ignore the part where you could actually get the girl too if you weren't such a head case," and when Quinn stiffens and opens her mouth to argue, Santana holds up a hand to stop her and adds, "because you're obviously not ready for that. You have to be comfortable with your own sexuality before you can be with someone else, or you'll just end up fucking everything up even more. I've been there and done that, okay? But you gotta stop making yourself sick over this shit, Q. Believe me, it's a hell of a lot easier to just accept who you are and what you want than spend every fucking minute of every day living a lie and worrying about how to keep up appearances. I guess I just thought you kind of figured that out already…you know, with this whole new Q that you've been working the last couple of months."

"I'm trying," she whispers, wiping at her eyes again—but just because of the cold. "It's not exactly coming easily."

"Well, now you've got Auntie Tana to help you out…like literally," Santana jokes as she gracefully rises from the chair and plops onto the edge of Quinn's bed, reaching over and—

Quinn stifles a cough and scoots her body away. "Uh…Santana, I'm flattered but…"

"Oh, get over yourself," Santana admonishes, grabbing the book bag, opening the flap, and rooting around inside. "You wish you could have sex with me. I'm happily taken." She pulls out a couple of DVD cases and tosses them onto Quinn's lap. "You just need to loosen the hell up, stop over-thinking everything, and have a little fun."

Quinn picks up the two movies and her eyebrows rise skeptically as she reads the titles: But I'm a Cheerleader and D.E.B.S. She feels the blood rushing to her head, and she knows she's probably turning a fairly deep shade of crimson. She's not completely oblivious. She knows what they're about, even if she's never actually watched them. She shakes her head in firm denial and tries to shove them back into Santana's hands. "I can't have these here, Santana," she hisses. "If my mother finds them…"

"Tell her they're mine. It's not a lie. Anyway, they're just movies, Q. Something to make you laugh. God knows you need to."

"Who are you and what have you done with Santana Lopez?" Quinn asks in wonder.

She shrugs uncomfortably. "Look, we're, like, lesbian soul sisters or something," she says, standing and pacing closer to the door. "I guess I just wish I'd had someone to talk to last year. I mean, Brittany was great, but she just doesn't process things the way I do. And Kurt…well, he's a guy, so it's just different, and anyway, I can only take so much of his sanctimonious bullshit, you know?"

"So this is you…being nice?"

Santana smirks and crosses her arms. "And this is me being a bitch…you need to talk to your midget, Quinn, because she's fucking driving me batty. Ever since you missed school yesterday, she's all, have you talked to Quinn? Do you know how she's feeling? Can you please take her homework to her and make sure she's drinking plenty of fluids and taking care of herself? But don't tell her I told you to check up on her because I don't think she would appreciate my concern," Santana whines a few octaves higher than her normal speaking voice. It doesn't sound anything like Rachel, but Quinn gets the idea, and she swallows down the butterflies that are dancing with happiness because Rachel still cares.

"She asked you to come?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "You freaked out on her, didn't you? Otherwise she'd be here personally delivering your books and probably force feeding you a big vat full of some weird vegan concoction to cure whatever ails you."

"I was having a bad day, thanks to you," she rasps with a weak glare at Santana.

"Whatever. You obviously care about her, so just…be her friend if that's what you want. Or don't. Just figure it out and stick with it, because, frankly, watching the two of you keep dancing around one another is making me fucking dizzy," Santana complains. She lingers in the doorway for another few seconds and gifts Quinn with one final grin. "Enjoy the movies, Q. If you like those, I have another one I think you'll really appreciate. It's about a girl named Luce who falls in love with a married woman named…Rachel," she finishes with a wink, and then she's out the door.

Quinn drags in a rattling breath and runs her fingers through her messy hair. She stares forlornly at the cover of D.E.B.S. and her eyes trail over the girls in their tiny, little plaid skirts, and—God, is this a lesbian fetish or something? Or is it just her? She's pretty sure that Rachel used to have a skirt exactly like that, and she thinks that she'd really liked it.

She replays everything that Santana said and feels her heart swell a little at the open invitation to talk. Maybe Santana really does care about her. Maybe it's been Quinn who's been the bad friend all along. Maybe it will be good to talk to someone who knows exactly what she's going through right now.

This time, when she dabs at her watering eyes, she knows it's not just the cold. Her body suddenly feels heavy with exhaustion, and she shoves the book bag to the floor and slips the DVDs under her mattress, just in case. Quinn sinks back down into her bed and burrows underneath her sheets, allowing her mind to drift wherever it wants. Unsurprisingly, she falls asleep with visions of girls in Catholic school uniforms dancing in her head.

xx

Quinn is feeling well-enough by Sunday to attend church with her mother—and Russell. They (mostly Judy) invite him to brunch at the house, and he asks Quinn if she's heard back from any of the colleges that she applied to. She hasn't, but it's still early. They eat together without any drama and talk about normal, everyday things like the weather and Russell's job and Judy's bridge club. Quinn imagines that this is what normal families do.

She hasn't seen Beth in a week, and she doesn't plan to until she's completely recovered because she won't risk her daughter's health for anything. Instead, she works on her school assignments. She waits until her mother (and her father) head out to their weekly AA meeting to watch one of the movies that Santana brought her, and it's kind of a revelation because there are parts that ring so painfully true to Quinn's thoughts and experiences. Someone actually wrote this and filmed it, and yeah it's a comedy and kind of ridiculous, but it's proof that everything that Quinn is experiencing is something that other people—other girls just like her—are going through, and she knows that she isn't alone.

First thing Monday morning, Quinn is waiting at Rachel's locker. She still isn't planning to act on her reluctant attraction or her newly discovered sexuality, but Santana was right. She cares about Rachel, and she likes spending time with her, and she doesn't want to go back to the way things were before she and Rachel were friends. Quinn knows that it will be a little awkward now, on her part at least, but she thinks that she can handle it. After all, she spent three years working hard at tormenting Rachel Berry with these urges buried deep inside—being nice to her is so much easier on both of them. Quinn feels like she probably deserves to have it hurt just a little, after the way she's hurt Rachel in the past.

When she first spots Rachel, the girl is buried underneath Finn's oversized arm, and Quinn finally acknowledges that familiar twisting in her belly as jealousy. They just look so wrong together. She watches them walk side-by-side, Rachel's graceful, purposeful strides next to Finn's clumsy, casual gait, and tries to imagine them walking a red carpet someday. She can envision Rachel, all flashy smiles and infectious laugh, charming the multitude of fans and reporters, but try as she might, she can only see Finn lingering somewhere in the background and holding Rachel's purse.

Quinn can pinpoint the exact moment that Rachel notices her, because her steps falter and her shoulders tense under Finn's touch. Quinn drags in a breath and offers a hesitant smile. Finn frowns as they come to a stop next to her, and she breathes out a soft, "Hi, Rachel." Her eyes dart up quickly, and she acknowledges him with a terse, "Finn." He nods back.

"Good morning, Quinn. I'm glad to see that your health has improved significantly," Rachel offers a little coolly, and Quinn figures it's justified.

"Yeah…I'm feeling better. C-can I talk to you for a minute," she glances at Finn again, "privately?"

Rachel's eyes search hers for something, and Quinn guesses that she finds whatever she's looking for when she briefly turns to Finn and places a hand on his chest. "I'll see you later, okay?"

His eyes cut over to Quinn and he shrugs. "Sure." He bends down (way, way down) and presses a chaste kiss to Rachel's cheek. "See you at lunch. Bye, Quinn," he calls back politely as he ambles away.

Rachel doesn't really watch him go, she just turns back to her locker and spins the combination. "What did you wish to discuss, Quinn?"

"Look, Rach," she says with a sigh. "I…I'm sorry about last week," and Rachel's attention is suddenly fully on her. "I didn't mean what I said, okay? I'm just dealing with a lot of things in my life right now," which is a huge understatement, "and I…I know it's not an excuse, but I was feeling really overwhelmed that day. I shouldn't have taken it out on you," she says sincerely, crossing her arms self-consciously over her stomach, "but I guess lashing out is still my first instinct."

Rachel smiles thinly. "At least you refrained from slapping me this time." Quinn feels the comment like a physical blow, which is especially fitting, and she tightens her arms around herself and hunches forward imperceptibly. Rachel's eyes grow wide and regretful, and she stutters, "I…I'm so sorry, Quinn. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean…"

Quinn jerks her head and barks out a harsh, "Don't!" effectively stopping Rachel cold. "Don't apologize," she repeats more gently. "I more than deserve it. I'm so sorry, Rachel…for everything…but especially for that," she stresses. "I never should have touched you."

Rachel's dark eyes travel over Quinn's face, and she feels as if Rachel is seeing everything. "I forgave you as soon as it happened."

"Why?" Quinn asks incredulously. "I've been awful. I don't know why you even care about me at all."

Rachel sucks her lower lip between her teeth and worries it for a moment. "I…I just do," she finally says with a shake of her head. "And anyway, I'm not exactly a saint, Quinn. We've both made mistakes, and ended up hurting people," she points out, "but I've always known that you're more than what you pretend to be. I'm just glad I'm finally getting to know the real you," she says sincerely.

"I don't even know who the real me is, Rachel. How can you?"

Rachel smiles and shrugs. "Call it my sixth sense."

"Be serious," Quinn urges, because she still feels like she's making all of this up as she goes along, and she really doesn't understand why Rachel is always—always—so positive that Quinn isn't just a selfish bitch who deserves to be miserable.

"What makes you think I'm not? Look, I…I guess I just understand why you acted the way you did," Rachel says casually, and Quinn swallows down the momentary panic at the thought that Rachel might have figured out everything as easily as Santana had. She sags in relief when Rachel says, "You needed to maintain your position at the top of the high school food chain. I can't say that I wouldn't have been tempted to do the same thing if I'd been given the opportunity. I'm certain you've noticed that I can be thoughtlessly self-serving at times," Rachel adds with practiced self-depreciation.

Quinn smiles, because it's true. "Well, yeah, but you're a genuinely good person, Rach. I'm not always so certain that I am."

"I think you are," Rachel insists, reaching out and taking one of Quinn's hands in her own. Quinn feels a rush of warmth at the contact and inhales sharply. She was right, it does hurt a little to experience these friendly touches and know that they don't really mean anything to Rachel. She must really be a masochist, because she'll take them over nothing every time. "Look at what you're doing for Beth…what you've already done for her. Not to mention what you did for Sam and his family last year, and the way you supported Mercedes when she was a cheerio. And I know you're the reason that glee club got a full page in the yearbook sophomore year."

Quinn's eyes widen is surprise. "How did you find out about that?"

Rachel's lips curl into a mischievous smile, and her eyes start to twinkle—no, sparkle, yeah—and Quinn feels a little breathless. "I'm afraid that I can't reveal my sources," Rachel whispers teasingly, "but needless to say, I know that you, Lucy Quinn Fabray, are secretly a really good person."

She doesn't even think about it really, she just tugs on the hand that's still holding onto hers and wraps Rachel into a hug, completely unconcerned that they're standing in the middle of the hallway for anyone to see. There's nothing sexual in it, at least not at first, but it feels so damn good, and Quinn lets herself really enjoy the contact. She can sense Rachel's surprise, and she completely understands, because Quinn is never the one who initiates any of the physical contact between them, but Rachel relaxes into her arms fairly quickly, and Quinn just squeezes her tighter. "Thank you for being my friend, Rach," she murmurs into dark, silky hair, breathing in deeply to savor the smell of her shampoo. That's when Quinn realizes that she's feeling more than she should for a friendly hug and finally loosens her arms and steps away.

Rachel is smiling softly and her eyes are still sparkling, and she murmurs, "I really like it when you call me that."

The corner of Quinn's mouth quirks up. "Friend?"

"No," Rachel shakes her head. "Rach. It's…nice."

Quinn chuckles a little, because she honestly didn't even notice she'd done it. "Doesn't Finn call you that?"

Rachel shrugs. "Sometimes, but it," she drops her eyes, and her brow furrows slightly, "it isn't the same." Quinn doesn't really have the chance to ask her what she means, because the first bell is ringing, and Rachel is turning to back to her locker and grabbing up her books. "I'm glad we're friends, Quinn. I've always wanted us to be." Quinn can't really say the same, but she nods anyway, because she does want it now. She'll take every friend she can get. "I'll see you in class?"

"Yeah…I don't think I can afford to miss any more."

Rachel frowns slightly. "Santana did bring you your assignments, didn't she? I swear if she didn't…"

"She did. Thanks for that, by the way. I know you're the one who thought to get them to me."

She shrugs and smiles. "Well, that's what friends do, right?"

Quinn sighs and nods in agreement. Friends. "Yeah."

xx

The next couple of weeks pass uneventfully. Quinn is actually calming down and learning to accept her new identity. She's nowhere near ready to take Santana up on her offer to drive to Columbus to meet women, but she's getting used to how often she notices girls, and she doesn't feel the need to pray her gay away so much anymore. It's something. Santana is actually proving to be a pretty good friend, which is admittedly a little weird, considering their overly competitive past, but it's nice to have someone to talk to, even if Santana is still a little too fond of the sexual innuendos and dropping really unsubtle hints about Rachel.

Quinn is spending more time with Rachel too, both inside and outside of school because—well, because she wants to. She thinks maybe it's her new favorite form of self-punishment, now that she's no longer torturing herself over Beth. They're not having sleepovers or anything—because really? There's no way she's at all prepared for being alone in bed with a girl—any girl—and especially not one that she might be attracted to. She blames Santana for this too, because she's the one who planted all these thoughts in Quinn's head about Rachel's mouth and her legs and her ass…ets.

They've watched a few movies, not all of them musicals, and had lunch at the new Thai restaurant once—because Finn doesn't like eating food he can't pronounce. They discuss books that they've both read and how they like to spend lazy summer days. Quinn's opening up a little about Russell being back in her life, and Rachel's revealing more about her relationship with Shelby and how it's affecting her dads. They're talking a little about their college plans too. Rachel is fairly settled on Tisch, and although Quinn can tell that she's still a little put out that she didn't get into NYADA, she's more upset that Kurt is starting to lean more toward staying in Ohio and attending OSU than going to New York with her. Part of his uncertainty has to do with his dad winning the election and Kurt feeling like he should stay and be somehow included in Burt Hummel's chance to make a real difference, and part is because Kurt doesn't really want to leave Blaine.

"I mean, Finn is probably staying here," Rachel complains, "and it just really shouldn't matter, should it? If your relationship is strong enough, the distance won't matter," but her voice lacks the conviction that Quinn is expecting, and she won't allow herself to ask what that means. Rachel shrugs. "I guess I'd just like it if I had a friend with me in New York. Obviously, I'm quite capable of going it alone, I've had years of practice, after all, but it's been nice lately…to not have to do that." She smiles softly at Quinn, letting her know that Rachel is thinking of her as much as Finn or Kurt. "Of course, you could still decide on a college in New York and save me from my impending solitude," Rachel urges again, and Quinn just smiles. She's still leaning toward OSU to be closer to Beth, and she's finally gotten her acceptance letter in the mail. Russell's actually hoping for Columbia to come through since Quinn didn't even apply to Northwestern, but Quinn—well, she's thinking more and more about majoring in psychology, thanks to her own screwed up psych and her time spent with Reverend Ellis. Columbia might be the Ivy League, but it's primarily geared to a degree in research or teaching. If anything, she'd want NYU, and it doesn't even have anything to do with the fact that Rachel will be there. The Steinhardt School of Psychology is ranked twelfth in the nation. She knows that she'll be more than tempted if she gets accepted there.

At school, all of the seniors are starting to freak over the college letters that are rolling in and more so over the ones that aren't. Finn still hasn't heard back from OSU, and he's getting kind of depressed. It's starting to affect his performances in glee—well, more than before. He and Rachel are still struggling to find the perfect duet for Regionals. They gave up weeks ago on their attempt to sing Rachel's arrangement of Faith Hill's Breathe, and thank God for that. Mr. Schuester's suggestion of Bad English's When I See You Smile was just painful, and Quinn still can't figure out why that man is so obsessed with eighties' power ballads. The latest chemistry free performance is Don't You Wanna Stay, and nobody is feeling it, not even Rachel. Quinn can see how frustrated she's getting by the whole ordeal, but she refuses to ask Rachel about her relationship with Finn. It's the one subject that they've both silently agreed to avoid as much as possible, and Quinn doesn't plan to change that just because she thinks Rachel can do better. She's not even thinking of herself, because she knows that even if she was ready explore her attraction girls—or God, be in a relationship with one—she still wouldn't be good enough for Rachel.

xx

The last weekend of March, Santana throws a party to celebrate her acceptance into UCLA. She doesn't know what she's going to study yet, she just knows it's as far away from Lima, Ohio as she can get and still be in the continental United States. Brittany's looking into dance studios in the area because she isn't planning on college at all and she can dance anywhere. Quinn hopes they make it, but secretly, she has her doubts. Los Angeles is a very big city with a lot of people and a lot of opportunities that neither Santana nor Brittany has ever had before.

Santana's parents are away for the weekend, so the party is fully stocked with alcohol, and Quinn has been nursing the same drink that Puck shoved into her hand an hour ago. The whole glee club is here, along with a couple of the less offensive cheerios that Santana took a (platonic) liking to, one of whom has been attached to Puck's lips (and God only knows what other parts of him) all night. It's really odd to see them partying so effortlessly with the gleeks, but Quinn suspects the copious amounts of alcohol have a lot to do with that. She's just sitting back and watching her friends—because most of them really are her friends now—having fun, and she's trying not to spend too much of her time staring at Rachel, but she suspects that she's failing miserably.

Rachel looks kind of beautiful tonight. She's wearing a (short) blue sleeveless dress that hugs her tightly in the bodice, and it shows off her curves and her legs to perfection. Her hair is softly curled and her bangs swept to the side, and Quinn really wants to run her fingers through it and find out if it's as silky as it looks. But Finn is the one who gets to do those things, and he has been since they arrived. Quinn can't really blame him, especially when he's riding a natural buzz from finally receiving his own acceptance letter to OSU that afternoon, complete with the inconceivable offer of a partial football scholarship. Quinn suspects that Coach Beiste pulled some strings with the recruiter. They were looking awfully cozy there for a while.

When they start slow-dancing together and Finn's oversized frame bends nearly in half so he can wrap Rachel up in his arms, Quinn can't bear to watch anymore. She grips her glass a little tighter and drains the last of the liquid inside in one swallow. She heads to the kitchen to grab another drink, and before she's done pouring, Santana appears at her side.

"Hey, Q. Enjoying the party?"

"Yeah, it's a blast," she deadpans.

Santana chuckles and reaches past her to refill her own drink, emptying out the bottle of tequila. "C'mon," she says as she playfully pokes an elbow into Quinn's side, "we can play spin the bottle and maybe you'll get lucky and land on the hobbit."

"Please don't call her that," Quinn automatically responds. For the most part, Santana has been better about the whole Rachel thing, but she's still Santana, and she still likes to push.

"Fine, Rachel," she stresses. "You can lay one on her and live out your fantasy without ever having to fess up to your secret obsession," she says, slinging an arm around Quinn's shoulder.

"No. Please Santana," she begs weakly, even though a part of her wants nothing more than to take Santana up on the offer and to maybe have just one kiss to remember without having to deal with any of the consequences, but, "I…I'm not ready, okay?"

Santana sighs and lets Quinn go. "Whatevs." She shrugs dismissively. "I was just trying to help out your closeted ass."

"I appreciate the sentiment," Quinn tells her honestly, and Santana grins and grabs her hand, dragging her back out to the party.

She lets go of Quinn and stands in the middle of the room. "Listen up, people, we are playing a game of truth or dare, so drop your asses into a circle and let's get our naughty on."

"Santana," Quinn hisses anxiously.

"Oh, chill out, Q. I promise not to ask you anything about your deep, dark secret. Just don't pick a dare," she warns with an evil grin before moving to sit next to Brittany. Quinn takes another drink and claims a chair opposite of them and diagonal from Rachel and Finn, who sit together on the couch.

Santana gives the empty bottle a spin to start the game and it lands on Mike. "Truth or dare, Chang?"

Mike swallows and glances over at Tina, who pats his hand. "Truth," he answers, obviously not feeling brave in the face of Santana's wicked nature.

She rolls her eyes. "Fine, who'd you lose the big V to and when?"

His back straightens and he glances between Tina and Santana. "Ah…B-Brittany, freshman year," he admits with a blush. Tina doesn't look surprised, and Brittany beams proudly.

"It was awesome," she announces, and his blush deepens. Santana growls at him, and he hurriedly leans forward and gives the bottle a spin. It lands on Blaine, who picks a dare. Mike shrugs and, after Tina whispers in his ear, he dares Blaine to let Kurt pluck his eyebrows. Blaine blanches and everyone laughs.

The game continues on with Sam being dared to spend the rest of the party shirtless, which he does, and Quinn having to admit that yes, he was actually a better kisser than Finn (and she's a little pissed that he asked her that) and Puck being dared to kiss Kurt, which he gamely does. Quinn is a little sorry for that one on Kurt's behalf, but she's always been bad at thinking up dares. Finn has to attempt break-dancing, which results in laughter and a broken coffee table, much to Santana's chagrin. Brittany has to perform a striptease, which she happily does, also to Santana's chagrin. And then Brittany's spin lands on Rachel.

"Truth," Rachel chooses after a moment of deliberation.

Santana snorts and shakes her head. "Figures you're too afraid to go for a dare."

"Leave her alone, Santana," Quinn warns reflexively.

Artie leans over to Puck. "Am I really drunk, or did Quinn just defend Rachel?"

"End of the world, dude," Puck mutters with a grin, and Quinn glares at him because he knows that she and Rachel are friends now. They all do really, but she supposes it's still odd for them to witness.

Rachel ignores the comment completely, focusing her attention on Santana instead. "I'm not afraid," she insists. "I'll take a dare instead, Brittany."

Brittany grins. "Awesome. I dare you to kiss, Santana."

Quinn's breath catches, and her stomach turns as her eyes dart back and forth between Rachel, Brittany, and Santana. Brittany has a huge, happy smile on her face, and Santana is gaping incredulously at her girlfriend. Rachel's eyes are wide, and she stammers, "W-what? Why would you…?"

"You're, like, a super fantastic kisser," Brittany announces, "and I want San to see for herself. Besides, it'll be so hot watching you."

"I love you, Brittany," Puck murmurs, and Quinn blindly reaches across and slaps the back of his head. "Hey," he grumbles resentfully, rubbing at his Mohawk, but she's not paying attention to him. Her focus is still on Rachel and her slightly horrified expression.

"Wait," Finn interrupts, staring down at Rachel with a deep frown. "How does Brittany know that you're a fantastic kisser?"

"Because we totally made out once," Brittany answers for Rachel. It's not new information to Quinn, thanks to Santana, but it certainly is to everyone else in the room, and their faces range from disgust (Kurt) to shock (Finn, Mercedes, Sam, and Blaine) to awe (Tina, Artie and Mike) and arousal (ew, Puck again).

"Rachel?" Finn prompts again.

She sighs, and turns to look at him. "It was sophomore year, Finn. We weren't even together then," she explains unnecessarily.

"She was really sad," Brittany adds with a mock-pout, and then she smiles. "Then she was really turned on."

"Oh, fuck, yeah," Puck moans.

Finn crosses his arms and leans back against the cushions to sulk. "I can't believe you never told me."

"It was just a kiss," Rachel huffs in exasperation.

"More like a lot of kisses…and some grinding," Brittany corrects happily, and Quinn bites into her lip to keep from growling. She notices Santana watching her closely.

"But you're not even into girls," Finn complains.

Rachel rolls her eyes and huffs. "Actually, Finn, I happen to believe that sexuality is fluid, and I've always been open to the possibility of falling in love with any gender. If I felt a particular connection with a woman," and Rachel's gaze drifts away from her boyfriend and fixes on a captivated Quinn for just a moment before she drags her eyes away, "and she returned the feelings of course," she qualifies quickly, "I wouldn't hesitate to pursue a relationship. I just happened to fall in love with you instead," she tells Finn in an attempt to soothe his bruised ego.

Quinn hears that last part of course, but it doesn't stop her heart from racing out of her chest at Rachel's admission. Her own eyes pull away from Rachel long enough to glance at Santana, who smiles slightly, nodding imperceptibly. Apparently, her gaydar is spot-on after all.

"Wow, dude. Like, three of the four girls you've dated are kind of gay," Puck laughingly informs Finn, who flips him off. Quinn feels her face getting really hot, because she knows Finn is actually four for four.

"Ah, you do realize that you dated them too, right?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, and I'm kinda pissed none of them have ever let me watch."

Quinn smacks him again, and Rachel crosses her arms defensively. "It was two years ago!" she reminds them all. "And I'm not gay, Noah. I just don't define my sexuality with restrictive labels."

"Okay, I'm getting bored here," Santana snaps impatiently. "Are we doing this or not?"

Rachel stares her down. "What are the consequences if I don't?"

Brittany opens her mouth to answer, but Santana beats her to it. "You and Finnept have to give up your duet at Regionals."

Rachel gasps. "That's…that's blackmail!"

"That's the deal. We've got witnesses," Santana points out with a sweep of her hand around the room. The recent Finchel duets have been bad enough that no one is going to challenge Santana's decision.

Rachel scowls, but glances back at her still pouting boyfriend. "Finn?"

"Whatever," he mutters unhappily. "It's just a game, right?"

Rachel brushes her hand along his arm to calm him before standing to approach Santana, who's been watching Quinn for the last thirty seconds with something almost like regret in her eyes. Quinn wants to slap her, even if she's fairly sure that Santana actually had nothing to do with the dare. Santana shrugs and stands up, and Quinn realizes that she's going to have a front row view for this. She really needs to get up and walk away so she won't have to watch them, but she thinks that might actually end up being more obvious than just gritting her teeth and powering through.

"No biting," Rachel warns.

Santana smirks. "From what I've heard, I should be saying that to you."

Rachel narrows her eyes. "I really don't like you very much."

"I like you even less," Santana says with mock sweetness before pressing her lips to Rachel's. Quinn's fingers tighten around the edge of her chair as she watches the tentative kiss. It's not so bad. They're not even really touching one another. Then Santana's hand twitches slightly, and she moves it to rest lightly on Rachel's waist. She angles her head a bit, and Quinn digs her nails hard into the underside of the chair because they're suddenly kissing for real—and Jesus, was that a tongue?—and she has to fight the urge to jump up and push them apart. It isn't fucking fair. She shouldn't have to watch Santana kiss the girl she lo—the girl she likes.

"Oh," Tina whispers.

"My," Kurt squeaks, pressing a hand to his mouth.

Mercedes gasps, "God."

"So hot," Puck murmurs in appreciation.

"I knew they would be," Brittany says proudly, and Rachel and Santana finally break apart, both a little breathless.

Rachel takes a quick step backward while Santana licks her lips. "Damn. Not bad, Berry," she compliments with a grin.

"I need some air," Finn mumbles, standing quickly and striding out of the room.

Rachel frowns. "Finn?" she calls out as she rushes after him. She's always chasing Finn Hudson. Quinn should be used to it by now.

Santana glances down at Quinn, and her slight smile falls away. She sighs and shrugs a silent apology before spinning around. "Turn up the music, Wheels. I wanna dance with my girl," and she turns to Brittany, grabbing her hand and pulling her up and into a kiss of their own.

The awkward tension dissipates, and everyone drifts back into the party, dancing and drinking and laughing, but Quinn can't be here anymore. She lays her glass aside and slips away, finding her coat and stepping out into the chilly night air. She only really had the one drink, so she heads for her car without any guilt. She can vaguely hear the raised voices of Finn and Rachel drifting from around the side of the house, but she doesn't want to hear them arguing over the kiss with Santana. She just wants to go home and forget the fact that Rachel Berry will never be hers.

xx

Quinn doesn't talk to Rachel for the rest of the weekend, but Santana shows up at her house on Saturday and apologizes for the kiss. "I honestly didn't know Britts was gonna do that, Q. She just thought it'd be hot to watch us, you know?"

"You have a really fucked up relationship," Quinn snaps. "Who wants to see their partner kiss someone else?"

"B's cool like that. She knows it didn't really mean anything. It didn't, Quinn," Santana assures her, laying a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm in love with Brittany. And yeah, maybe Britt knows I had a little thing for Rachel and wanted to let me have some fun with it, but honestly, Quinn, I'm not into your girl that way."

"She's not my girl," Quinn bites out in frustration, pacing away and staring unseeingly down at the foot of her bed.

"Yeah, yeah. Not revisiting that argument, okay? Are we cool or what?" Santana asks cautiously.

Quinn closes her eyes and nods, puffing out a frustrated breath and swallowing heavily. "Is she…was it a good kiss?"

Santana gapes at her. "Did you seriously just ask me that?"

"As much as I hate it, you're probably as close as I'll ever get to kissing her, Santana. The least you can do is tell me if…if I really need to regret that it wasn't me last night," Quinn whispers brokenly.

Santana is quiet for a long minute before she smiles sadly. "You kind of do."

Quinn sinks down onto her mattress and buries her face in her hands. She doesn't know what she was expecting. She could see how enthusiastic that kiss started to turn before everyone's stunned commentary broke it up. That could have been her kiss, if only she'd agreed to play spin the bottle instead. She feels Santana sit next to her and wrap an arm around her shoulder, and Quinn leans into her friend and cries for another missed opportunity in her life.

xx

She and Puck spend a few hours with Beth on Sunday afternoon, and Quinn mostly succeeds in not thinking about her pathetic personal life, but she still ends up asking Puck if he's talked to Finn at all since the party. He shrugs and says, "No. After the way he and Rachel took off Friday night, I'm steering clear of both of them for a while."

Quinn nods and ignores the nervous fluttering in her stomach. It doesn't matter anyway. They're probably kissing and making up like they always do, and even if they aren't, Quinn isn't delusional enough to think that she really has a chance with Rachel. She isn't even ready for that miniscule possibility. Quinn turns her face into her daughter's soft cheek and plants a tiny kiss there. This is who she is. It's all she needs—for now.

Her college plans get a little monkey wrench thrown into them when Shelby informs them that she isn't certain yet if she's going to stay on at Carmel next year.

"Truth is, I forgot how time-consuming coaching Vocal Adrenaline really is, and I definitely forgot how frustrating it is dealing with their insane sponsors," she tells them. "There's a school in Long Island that's offering me a position for next year, and I'm seriously considering it. It'll give me plenty of time with Beth, and it certainly doesn't hurt that Rachel will be close by too. Our relationship is in a pretty good place right now, and I'd like it to continue. I know you applied to some colleges in New York, Quinn. You might want to really consider them."

Quinn feels her chest tighten at the possibility, but she breathes through her unruly hope because she still hasn't gotten any letters from the New York schools. Puck has only recently started thinking about his own plans for the future, and he's talking more about applying to the police academy lately, which is probably the career that Quinn least expected him to be interested in. "Chicks dig the uniform," he'd joked. He can't apply until he's twenty, so he's also looking at two-year degrees until then. He's going to start doing a little research on the New York academy, but he's pretty much resigning himself to semi-monthly visits with Beth for a couple of years.

xx

On Monday, Rachel and Finn are still together, standing at her locker and exchanging light, familiar touches, and Quinn realizes just how much she was hoping that they would finally break up. It's completely selfish and kind of bitchy, because she isn't ready to come out, let alone pursue Rachel, but she'd still rather see Rachel single than with Finn.

They don't talk about Santana's party. They don't talk about Finn. They actually don't talk much at all, but Quinn notices that Rachel isn't really talking to anyone else either. She's quiet and distracted, and Quinn wonders if she's still having problems with Finn. The couple doesn't really interact much in glee on Tuesday, and they don't practice their duet. Mr. Schuester isn't happy, because Regionals is two weeks away and they're not ready, but Rachel tells him that they're working it out.

At their after school rehearsal on Thursday, Finn and Rachel finally click with their duet, and it's a revelation for everyone. They're all expecting another attempt at Don't You Wanna Stay, but that isn't what the band starts to play. Quinn sits and watches, completely spellbound, as Rachel faces Finn and pours all of her emotion into the words spilling in perfect pitch from her lips.

Remember all the things we wanted,

Now all our memories they're haunted.

We were always meant to say goodbye.

Even with our fists held high,

It never would've worked out right, yeah.

We were never meant for do or die,

Rachel reaches out and takes Finn's hands with her own.

I didn't want us to burn out.

I didn't come here to hurt you, now I can't stop.

I want you to know that it doesn't matter

Where we take this road someone's gotta go,

And I want you to know you couldn't have loved me better,

But I want you to move on, so I'm already gone.

Rachel's eyes are glistening when she finally lets go of Finn's hands and turns away. He's been swallowing thickly and holding back tears from the moment that Rachel started to sing, but he begins the next verse in a surprisingly strong voice.

Looking at you makes it harder,

But I know that you'll find another

That doesn't always make you want to cry.

Started with a perfect kiss then

we could feel the poison set in.

Perfect couldn't keep this love alive.

You know that I love you so,

I love you enough to let you go.

Then their voices join together in the harmony that everyone has come to expect from them, and it's painfully ironic that they've recaptured their magic in what is, so obviously, their break-up song.

I want you to know that it doesn't matter

Where we take this road someone's gotta go,

And I want you to know you couldn't have loved me better,

But I want you to move on, so I'm already gone.

I'm already gone, already gone.

You can't make it feel right when you know that it's wrong.

I'm already gone, already gone.

There's no moving on, so I'm already gone.

When the music finally fades, no one knows what to do. The performance was so raw and powerful, and Quinn knows that they can win Regionals with it, but it doesn't feel right to applaud when they're both brushing away real tears—even if the tiny, selfish, evil part of Quinn that still lives inside of her wants to stand up and jump for joy at what she's certain this all means.

Rachel saves them all from having to worry about what to say or do when she mutters a quiet, choked, "Excuse me," and runs out of the choir room. Finn releases a shuddering breath and wipes his eyes, grunting, "Yeah," before following her out. Except, Quinn notices that he doesn't actually follow Rachel. He turns to the right, and Rachel had run to the left. That divergence actually seems to sum up their entire relationship.

Quinn stands at the precise moment that Kurt does, and when they look at one another, a silent understanding passes between them. She's going to check on Rachel, and he'll go after his stepbrother. She finds Rachel, expectedly, in the nearest girls' bathroom, leaning over the sink and dabbing at her eyes with a paper towel. Quinn's gaze darts all around the familiar scenery, and she shakes her head, oddly amused. Always with the bathrooms.

Rachel glances over at her, closes her eyes and says, ""Finn and I broke up."

"I kind of figured," Quinn drawls, leaning her hip against the sink next to Rachel. "What happened? I thought you were, like, supposed to be in love forever or something." Quinn is very proud that she manages to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"I still love him," Rachel confesses easily. "I think I always will. I mean, he's my first love and…and my first time," she reminds Quinn with a sad smile, "and I won't ever regret being with him. I guess I've just finally grown up enough to admit that we want different things in our lives."

"Wow, I honestly never thought I'd hear those words come out of your mouth," Quinn admits. She knows that this Rachel is different from the girl that chased after Finn Hudson for two years, but she really expected that they'd have to make it out of high school and probably through a year or two of college, whether in the same city or separated by hundreds of miles, before they would finally let go of each other.

"Finn was the first boy who ever really…liked me. He's popular and cute and…a really good singer. He was the perfect leading man," Rachel adds with a fond smile, "and I suppose that I built up this fantasy around him…around our relationship. But you know that already," she tells Quinn pointedly. "You tried to make me realize it last year."

Quinn grimaces, because it's not really one of her favorite memories. Actually, she'd rather forget most of her interactions with Rachel prior to this year. "I was trying to get you to give up on him because I wanted him for myself…or I thought I did," she corrects, knowing now that it wasn't Finn that she'd wanted. At all. "I was a total bitch, Rachel."

"Well, yeah, you were," Rachel agrees with a little grin, "but you were also right. I just didn't want to see it. I couldn't give up on him…on the fantasy. And then New York happened, and I knew that I wanted the stage more than anything or anyone, but I wanted Finn too, and he wanted me back," she halts her rambling with a rueful shake of her head, "and I just wanted it all to work out, you know? And it did, for a while."

Rachel sighs and shifts around, leaning against the sink and mirroring Quinn's position. "It was actually really good for the first six months. We finally figured out how to be together without constantly hurting one another or…or trying to change each other, and I started to think that I didn't have to choose between Finn and my dreams…that I could have both. Then he got into OSU, and I can't ask him to give it up, but God, Quinn, I just can't stay here," Rachel exclaims.

"So you broke up because you're going to different colleges?" Quinn asks slowly, trying to make sense of what she's hearing. It's not that she hadn't known that the New York issue has been a huge sticking point in their relationship for the last several months, she just really didn't think Rachel would break up with Finn over it.

Rachel shakes her head. "No. We broke up because," she pauses and ducks her head, her cheeks tinting pink, "as it turns out, we make much better friends than we do lovers."

Huh? Better friends than— "O-oh," Quinn stammers, fighting down her own blush at the revelation.

"I thought that when Finn and I finally made love, it would bring us closer…make our relationship stronger," Rachel explains, and Quinn really wishes that she wouldn't. These are private things that she doesn't want to hear about—ever—but she's powerless to stop Rachel from speaking. "But it kind of had the opposite effect. I mean, it wasn't…horrible or anything," she stresses embarrassedly, "we'd gotten him over his …well…um," she trails off awkwardly, and both of their blushes deepen.

"Yeah, I get it," Quinn supplies, internally shuddering at the memory of Finn's little problem and all the times he'd had to chant mailman with her. Come to think of it, he was a bit better about that the last time they'd dated. She wonders if that was Rachel's handiwork, because she knows that Santana wouldn't have been very helpful.

"It just wasn't what I expected it would be," Rachel acknowledges regretfully. "Santana was right. There wasn't really any…passion there. We already had so few things in common outside of glee," she admits sadly, "and lately, it seemed like we've been… going through the motions just because neither of us wanted to be the one to end it this time." Rachel sighs again and shrugs. "It seemed pointless to keep hanging on to something that we both know is never going to last beyond graduation."

Quinn processes this, feeling her emotions flying all over the place—she's sad for Rachel but so, so inappropriately happy for herself. She bites back the smile that wants to spread across her lips and nods thoughtfully instead. Then something occurs to her, and she's frowning. "You didn't just break up today, did you?"

Rachel sighs and shakes her head. "Sunday night."

"But you've been together at school."

"Not really," Rachel reveals. "We…we're trying to stay friends, and neither of us want the end of our romantic relationship to affect the glee club or our chances at Regionals. This isn't some horribly bitter break up, Quinn," she promises. "We just…fizzled out."

"So this doesn't have anything to do with what happened Friday night?" Quinn wants to make sure, because she might have to hurt someone if Rachel suddenly has feelings for Santana. Rachel has been known to fixate on people with far less incentive in the past. Quinn remembers her insane little crush on Mr. Schuester sophomore year thanks to a duet and her aborted attempt to romance Blaine last year after their spin the bottle kiss.

Rachel flushes. "If you're referring to my unfortunate kiss with Santana, then no. At least not the way you're probably thinking."

"What way, then?" Quinn prompts, crossing her fisted hands under her breasts in an attempt to hold in her growing discomfort with the conversation. She should just drop it, but she needs to know.

"I'm not…attracted to Santana," she assures Quinn, meeting her eyes without hesitation, "but I can't exactly deny that I…enjoyed kissing her. She's very skilled," Rachel admits with a careless shrug, and Quinn digs her nails into her palms in jealousy. "Finn wasn't upset because he thought I might have feelings for Santana, but…well, I haven't really kissed him that way in months, and we both knew it. It forced us to talk about everything we'd been ignoring."

Quinn breathes out a sigh of relief, licking her lips and nodding again. "Are you okay?"

Rachel offers another sad smile. "I will be. It's for the best, really. We both know that. I think singing together today just made us both really emotional."

Quinn chuckles lightly, and shakes her head. "You kind of amaze me, Rach," she murmurs. "I mean, only you would transform something so…personal into such an incredible performance."

"Incredible, huh?" Rachel asks with a shy grin. "You wouldn't rather say extraordinary…or breathtaking?"

Quinn laughs and gives her a playful shove. "God, ego, much? You know exactly how good you were. Finn too," she adds grudgingly.

"It's still nice to hear, especially from one of my toughest critics."

Quinn feels her cheeks heat again, because Rachel is so wrong and she doesn't even have a clue. Quinn is probably one of her biggest fans. Maybe someday she'll even be brave enough to tell her. But not today—today Quinn is just happy to bask in the tiny little ember of hope that just got fanned a little brighter, because Rachel Berry is single.

xx

Quinn would like to say that she doesn't have any doubt that New Directions will win Regionals, but unlike last year, they're once again pitted against Vocal Adrenaline. They're all feeling more than a little nervous when they get to the competition, like this could really be the last time they'll all perform together. Fate places them last so they have to sit through the all of the other performances, and it feels like it's taking forever. It immediately becomes clear that a few months under Shelby Corcoran was really all it took for Vocal Adrenaline to turn back into the technically perfect monster that it's been in the past. Quinn feels Rachel sink down lower in the seat next to her, and she reaches out and grabs her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Rachel squeezes back, shooting Quinn a grateful little smile before she readjusts their hands so that their fingers are linked together. Quinn loses her breath. She knows it doesn't mean anything. It's just Rachel being Rachel, but she doesn't even care. She never wants to let go of her hand.

When they make their way backstage to take their places, Shelby is there, and Rachel goes over to offer her congratulations for Vocal Adrenaline's performance. Shelby smiles and wishes her luck, laying her hands lightly on her daughter's shoulders. They both hesitate for a moment before Rachel steps into Shelby's arms. Quinn feels her eyes swim as she watches the woman embrace her daughter like she never wants to let go, and when they finally do, they are both smiling and discreetly wiping at their tears.

New Directions take their places, and the curtains open, and everything goes perfectly. Blaine's solo has the audience dancing in their seats, and then Finn and Rachel have them all in tears, and by the end of the group number, the audience is standing and delivering deafening applause. Fifteen minutes later, they are all waiting breathless for the judges' results, and Quinn is standing between Rachel and Santana, each hand securely held by the girls who have become her closest friends over the last few months. When New Directions actually takes first place, she finds herself wrapped up in Rachel's arms, with Santana still clutching her left hand, pulling at Quinn's arm awkwardly when Brittany picks her up. Rachel pulls away and graces Quinn with a wide, happy smile before she turns and gets pulled into a hug by Kurt. Quinn is immediately surrounded by Brittany and Santana, and they're both squeezing her tightly and pressing kisses to her cheeks, and she's just so happy that they all get to have a little more time together in this crazy little family.

xx

Three days after Regionals, Quinn finally receives the envelope from NYU. The one from Columbia came last Friday, bearing the welcome to the class of 2016 message. Russell has made it clear what his preference is, but Quinn has made it equally clear that it isn't actually hers. Her relationship with her father is getting better, and he and her mother are starting to talk about him moving back in. Quinn doesn't hate the idea as much as she used to. She found out in therapy that Russell's rock bottom was waking up alone on the floor of a hotel shower stall with an empty bottle of Jack Daniels shattered all around him and shards of glass embedded into his skin. He'd needed stitches for the gash across his forehead where he hit the faucet on the way down. He could have died. Quinn might not always like her father, but he's still her father, and the idea of never having the chance to make amends just doesn't feel right to her. He's trying, and she's trying too, but she's never going allow him to dictate her life again.

She eyes the envelope in her hands nervously and finally takes a deep breath and rips into it, reading the first two sentences. As soon as she sees the congratulations, a wide smile splits her face. She can do this. She can have New York, and she can have Beth in her life, and she can have—she can have more time with Rachel. And maybe someday, when she's not quite so terrified and uncertain, maybe they can actually have a chance at something.

She slips the letter under Rachel's nose in glee the next day while she's engrossed in whatever sheet music she's studying. Dark brows furrow in annoyance for about six seconds before her eyes widen and she's jumping up and pulling Quinn into a hug. "Oh, my God, you got in! This is fantastic," and Quinn is smiling and laughing and just enjoying having Rachel in her arms. "You have to enroll, Quinn. Oh, please say you're enrolling," Rachel begs with wide, hopeful eyes. "It would be unusually cruel to tease me with this letter unless you've already decided on NYU. I might never forgive you."

"I'm going to NYU, Rach," she confirms. She's already talked to both of her parents and Shelby about it. Vocal Adrenaline's loss at Regionals and the fallout from it pushed Shelby into a firm decision to accept the offer in Long Island. Rachel squeals and jumps back into Quinn's arms.

"I'm so happy! We can study together and go for coffee and walks in the park and to see Broadway shows, and oh," Rachel steps back with an excited glint in her eyes, "we can room together, Quinn. It will be perfect." She claps and bounces up and down.

Quinn's smile slips and her eyes widen. "I…uh…I'm not sure that's such a good idea," she tries, because it's so far from a good idea that it isn't even funny. Sharing a room with Rachel? Sleeping a few feet away from her every night? Seeing her in next to nothing? Oh, lord. Quinn licks her lips as her eyes rake over Rachel's body. That would be so, so…so bad.

Rachel visibly deflates. "Oh, of course. I suppose our friendship is still in the early, fragile stages, and I know I can be…difficult to live with under the best of circumstances." She attempts a careless smile, but Quinn can see that she's a little hurt, and she wants to kick herself. "Even Kurt didn't want to share an apartment," Rachel admits with a shrug.

Okay, now Quinn wants to kick Kurt Hummel too, even if he has finally decided on Fordham University. "It's not so much you as me, Rachel. I…I'm not exactly a ray of sunshine," she warns.

"That's the understatement of the century," Santana's voice cuts in as she and Brittany stroll into the choir room.

"Be nice, San. Quinn's totally a rainbow, but, like, the sad kind, you know, when you sort of see the colors but they're still all hazy 'cause the sun isn't really shining yet."

They all stare at Brittany, and Quinn feels herself blush a little at how true that description actually is. "That's beautiful, B," Santana tells her after a moment.

"I know, right?"

"So why are you a sad rainbow, Q?" Santana asks her with smirk.

"She isn't sad at all," Rachel argues. "She got into NYU," she announces with a wide grin, and Quinn feels herself smiling in response.

"That's so awesome," Brittany squeals and skips over to give Quinn a bear hug.

Santana's eyes widen. "So, wait, you're going to school with Berry?"

"Yes," Rachel gushes, bouncing on her toes again.

"I'm going to Steinhardt. She's going to Tisch," Quinn qualifies. "I'm not actually going with her."

"Same difference," Santana smirks. "I'm just glad you decided to get your ass out of Ohio," and she gives Quinn a quick hug of her own, whispering in her ear, "and go after your girl."

Quinn blanches and whips her head around to see if Rachel heard, but she's talking to Brittany about New York. "Not yet," she murmurs back.

Santana winks. "Congratulations, Quinn. You deserve something good for a change."

Quinn feels her eyes filling again, and she manages a hoarse, "Thanks."

The rest of the club starts to filter in, and Quinn happily settles into her chair and listens to Mercedes and Rachel argue over the solo at Nationals and Santana complain about the lame song choices and Puck suggest that the girls' costumes consist of booty shorts. Quinn is really going to miss all of this when it's over. For now, she just wants to enjoy the moment, surrounded by her friends and really looking forward to her future for the first time in a long time.

xx

"Wait…Rachel seriously wants you two to be roommates?" Santana manages around her laughter. They're sitting in a booth at Breadstix because Santana offered to take her out for a congratulatory dinner, but really she wants to pump Quinn for information on NYU because Quinn never even told her that she'd applied there.

"It's not funny, Santana," Quinn growls. "I know she's going to keep asking, and I can't share a room with her."

"Afraid you'll jump her sexy little ass in the middle of the night?"

Quinn leans across the booth and hisses, "Would you be quiet!"

"Sorry," Santana snickers. "So is Russell still offering to pay your way or what?" she asks, snapping a breadstick in half.

Quinn pushes around the salad on her plate. "Yeah, even though I'm picking NYU over Columbia."

"Why are doing that anyway? No way I'd turn down a free ride to Columbia," Santana says, shoving another piece of the breadstick in her mouth.

"One, it's not exactly free," Quinn reminds her. "I'll kind of be dependent on Russell for the next four years, and at least I can maybe swing NYU on my own if I have to. And two, Columbia doesn't have the major I want."

"Which is?" Santana prompts.

"Applied psychology."

Santana pauses with a forkful of pasta halfway to her mouth. "You serious?"

"Yep."

Santana grins. "Well, that's irony at its best."

"Funny."

"I try," Santana shrugs, shoving her fork in her mouth. Quinn goes back to playing with her cherry tomato as Santana packs her food away. A few minutes later, she asks, "So is Russell still a conservative asshole? 'Cause if he is, I can't see him being okay with you shacking up with the daughter of two gay men."

Quinn shrugs. "He seems okay with Rachel, oddly enough. He was very polite when I introduced them."

Santana frowns. "Does he actually know who she is?"

Quinn chuckles. "Yeah. The thing is, he was always conservative before the divorce, but he never did quote Leviticus or anything. He left that up to our pastor and my grandmother. He'd always just kind of shake his head whenever he saw the Berrys around town and say what a shame it was that they were choosing to raise a child in that lifestyle."

"Huh," Santana grunts, leaning back in the booth. "Well, that ought to be an interesting conversation when you finally tell him about your recent sexual awakening."

Quinn blanches, and drops her forehead into her hand. "That's not happening for a really long time, Santana. And I'd rather not even think about it right now."

"Okay, so think about this instead," Santana offers. "Maybe living with Berry could be a good thing. Proximity makes the heart grow fonder and all that."

Quinn chuckles and lifts her head. "You've got your idioms mixed up, Santana."

"Oh, whatever. You're focusing too much on your own hang-ups when you need to be thinking about it as a chance to get Rachel all hot and bothered over you."

Quinn sighs. "I'm not read…"

"Not ready," Santana recites along with Quinn. "Yeah, I know. Jesus, a glacier moves faster than you, Quinn," she complains, tossing some money on the table. "Come on, let's roll out of here. Some of us actually have a hot girlfriend to sex tonight."

"You suck," Quinn tells her.

"I bite and lick too," Santana teases with a smirk. Quinn laughs, and it feels good. It feels like acceptance.

xx

Beth's second birthday hits Quinn hard. Last year, she'd curled into a little ball and refused to get out of her bed. She'd cried all day and refused to talk to her mother, lost in a swirling vortex of questions and regrets, wondering where her baby girl was and what she looked like and if she was happy and healthy. This year, she only stays in bed for an extra half hour, because she knows exactly where Beth is, and she'll be able to see her and hold her and wish her a happy birthday and tell her how much she loves her and how lucky she is to be her mother.

Judy makes her breakfast, and they talk about Beth before Quinn goes to school. Puck shows up at her locker as soon as she gets there and wraps an arm around her, greeting her with a gentle smile and a, "Hey, baby mama." She doesn't even feel the urge to slap him for it today. They're both too happy to be able to celebrate this day with their daughter. They arrive at Shelby's after school with gifts, and she lets them spend an hour alone with Beth before they welcome a few more guests—Judy and Russell and Mrs. Puckerman and Sara and Rachel. Quinn knows that Rachel has been here before and has already met Beth on her own, but it's the first time they've all been here together, and it's the first time that Quinn sees Rachel holding her daughter. It affects her in a way she really wasn't prepared for, and her heart swells in her chest at the sight of Rachel laughing and talking sweetly to Beth. She won't let herself examine the unexpected ache too closely. Quinn isn't thinking about their convoluted relationships either. She's just enjoying the moment. No matter what happens in the future, Rachel is always going to be a part of Quinn's life through their connection with Beth and Shelby, but she's beginning to hope for so much more than that.

xx

The night of Senior Prom, Quinn is sitting on the edge of her bed worrying the cross around her neck as she waits to be picked up. She's wondering how she got here. Oh, she knows how of course. Rachel pushed and cajoled and convinced her until she agreed to go. "It's our senior prom, Quinn. You can't really intend to skip it. It's the grand culmination of our high school experience." Quinn informed her that she certainly did intend to skip it, especially after the disaster of last year, but Rachel wouldn't take no for an answer, and Quinn has never been particularly good at refusing her anyway. She doesn't technically have a date, but she's kind of going with Puck and Rachel and Finn, and it should absolutely be the most awkward, uncomfortable arrangement in the history of William McKinley High School, but Rachel insists that it's going to work. She apparently has all three of them wrapped around her finger. Quinn finds this completely hilarious.

The doorbell rings, and Quinn drags in a breath, presses a hand to her racing heart, and starts down the stairs. Puck is standing in the foyer clutching a corsage in his hands, and Finn and Rachel are hovering behind him, attempting small talk with Quinn's parents. Neither her mother nor her father is particularly fond of Finn Hudson after everything that's happened, and Puck is only tolerated because of how amazing he is with Beth. The moment Quinn makes her grand entrance—because, damn it, lesbian or not, she can still work an entrance like nobody else—all eyes are on her. Even (and most importantly) Rachel's. It makes Quinn giddy to see the blatant appreciation in the other girl's eyes, even if it doesn't mean what she wishes it would.

Puck grins. "Wow, you look beautiful." Quinn smiles, because—yeah, she does. She's wearing green this year because Rachel said it would make her eyes look amazing. They'd gone shopping for their dresses together, along with Santana and Brittany—and boy, that had been an experience that she isn't in any hurry to repeat—but Quinn hadn't let anyone (well, she hadn't let Rachel) see her in her dress until now. Her mother had helped her style her short hair into an elegant up-do, and she feels like a princess. It's so much better than last year, because all of this is just for her to enjoy.

Puck hands over the corsage and Quinn's eyes widen. "A gardenia," she whispers, staring down at the perfect blossom garnished with a light green ribbon—the same as last year. Puck couldn't have known, and her gaze darts to Finn at first, but he's just standing there with a polite smile and his hands shoved casually in his pockets. Either he doesn't remember or he never even had a clue. Her eyes move to Rachel, and Quinn just knows—like she should have known last year. Finn never paid this much attention to important details, not like Rachel. She smiles shyly, and Rachel smiles back. Quinn carefully puts on the corsage, feeling little tingles of happiness warm her entire body.

Their weird four-way date actually does end up working. Quinn dances with Puck, and she dances with Finn. She dances with Sam and Kurt and Blaine. She sits on Artie's lap and lets him spin her around the floor for a song. Santana even drags her into a ridiculous tango that they laugh the whole way through. She wants nothing more than to dance with Rachel, but she's still not brave enough, and so she settles for dancing next to Rachel in a group of their friends.

Quinn is sitting at table nursing her punch when the time comes to crown prom king and queen. She's not running this year, so she's not really paying attention to the announcements. She's fingering her corsage again (she's been doing it all night) while she absently listens to Rachel chastise Puck for attempting to spike the punch. So when Santana suddenly gives her shoulder a shove and tells her to get up, Quinn just glares and says, "What the hell, S?"

"Get up on the fucking stage, Q. They just called your name for prom queen."

Her heart skips a beat, and her head whips around. Finn is already standing awkwardly under a spotlight with a crown sitting crookedly on his head, and Principal Figgins is holding a cue card and a microphone, looking around the gymnasium. "Quinn Fabray," he calls out again.

She doesn't understand. She wasn't even campaigning, but then, neither was Finn. Rachel is cupping her elbow and standing, pulling Quinn up with her. "Go on, Quinn. Go claim your crown."

"But…"

"Just go," Santana gives her a little push, and then she's moving forward, and everyone around is clapping, and God—okay, so she's still vain enough to absolutely want that crown.

She climbs the steps and stands next to Finn, smiling dazedly as Figgins places the crown on her head. She's supposed to make a little speech. She had one prepared last year, but she can't remember a word of it, and anyway, it wouldn't mean anything anymore. She's a different person now. But maybe not so different—she doesn't understand how she won, but she isn't going to question it.

Quinn steps to the microphone and looks out over all of her classmates. She picks out a few familiar faces. Kurt is smiling up at her from the circle of Blaine's arms, Mercedes and Sam are still clapping, and Puck is giving her a thumbs-up. She clears her throat and says, "I'm not sure how this happened, but…thank you. All of you," she repeats, her eyes finally falling on a grinning Rachel, who's standing next to Santana in front of the stage. Then Finn is taking her hand and leading her down the steps, and she misses the brief little handshake that Santana and Rachel exchange.

Finn sweeps her into the required dance, and she smiles up at him. He grins and chuckles. "Wow, who'd have thought we'd end up here, huh?"

"It's kind of unreal," she murmurs.

"You look really pretty tonight, Quinn," he tells her. "I don't know if I actually told you that yet."

"Thanks, Finn. You look handsome too," she says, because he really does. "I don't think I've really asked you how you've been, since," she trails off, suddenly realizing that she really hasn't spoken to him much all year.

He shrugs. "Okay, I guess. It's weird, you know? I mean, I still love Rachel, but it's kind of like…I'm happy as long as she's happy. I'm just glad we can still be friends, because she's kind of a great one to have."

"Yeah, she really is," Quinn agrees.

"It's really weird that you guys are friends now," and when she quirks her eyebrow, Finn rushes to add, "Good weird, though. Like, I always thought you'd really like each other if you just got over all that…stuff."

Quinn laughs, because Finn was pretty much the majority of the stuff. "You're a really good guy, Finn. Someday you're going to make some girl really happy."

"You think?"

She nods emphatically. "I know." Just not Rachel. And not Quinn. Not anymore. If she's really lucky, maybe she'll make some girl really happy someday too. Maybe it will even be Rachel.

The music changes, and Puck and Rachel both cut in on their dates. Puck kisses Quinn's cheek in congratulations, and Rachel gives her a too brief hug. "I still don't understand how we won," Quinn says laughingly, "but I'm not giving my crown back."

"Are you kidding?" Puck asks with a grin. "Rachel and Santana totally stuffed the ballot box."

Rachel elbows him hard in the stomach. "We did not stuff the box, Noah," she hisses. "We didn't stuff the box, Quinn," she repeats more calmly. Quinn is gaping at her incredulously, because honestly? She can totally imagine Santana and Rachel doing something like that. "We merely asked everyone to vote for you."

"Asked? Try bribed and threatened. My girls made me proud," Puck brags, draping an arm over Rachel's shoulder.

"We didn't threaten anyone," Rachel insists, adding thoughtfully, "Although, I'd never realized exactly how much dirt Santana has collected on just about everyone in this school."

Puck snorts. "Yeah, and you're so innocent."

Rachel shrugs and grins. "Well, I can be very persuasive when I want to be."

God, isn't that the truth? Quinn is feeling so fantastic right now that she doesn't even care if her election was rigged. She's still not giving back her crown. She hugs Rachel again, laughing joyfully. She's never going to forget this night.

xx

Two weeks later, Quinn is standing on another stage surrounded by New Directions, waiting to hear the results of Nationals. They'd made it into the top ten after the first round, and they'd bounced around the venue lobby, screaming and hugging and acting like complete loons because they'd actually made the finals. As far as Quinn is concerned, it doesn't matter if they win or not, getting this far is enough for her, but she knows everyone else wants that title. She's once again holding Rachel's hand, but this time Puck is on her other side and she actually thinks it's fitting. This is her family after all.

In the end, they don't win, but their third place trophy is nothing to be ashamed of. After all of the drama and fighting and hook-ups and break-ups and storm outs and last minute set lists, they never should have even made it this far. The fact that they did says so much about the sheer talent in the club and the determination of a few people who never gave up. Quinn can admit she's mostly just been along for the ride, but God, what a ride it's been!

Graduation sneaks up on all of them, and there are tears and hugs and promises to spend one last amazing summer together before they go their separate ways. Shelby is at the ceremony with Beth, and Rachel takes a picture of Puck and Quinn in their caps and gowns with their daughter smiling happily between them. Then Puck snaps one of Shelby and Rachel. The misters Berry are there too, and Quinn thinks it's actually the first time that she's seen them all together. She holds her breath when the inevitable happens and Russell and Judy officially meet Hiram and Leroy Berry. Russell nods politely, shakes both of their hands, and compliments them on raising such a talented and thoughtful young woman. Quinn exhales audibly. She doesn't even care if he's being completely sincere, she's just so damned grateful that he's trying to be respectful. Rachel smiles at her, and she feels like everything will be okay.

xx

Two days later, the entire club is lounging around Santana's pool to celebrate their long awaited freedom. It will be the first of many summer days spent together before the college bound graduates start packing up and leaving Lima behind. Artie, Tina, and Blaine are sequestered on a picnic table, commiserating on having to endure another year of hell. Puck and Finn are playing a game of volleyball against Mike and Sam. Mercedes and Kurt are gossiping about…something or other, and Santana and Brittany are lazing in the sun and working on their tans. Rachel is scrolling through the songs on her iPod, and Quinn has a book in her lap that she's been pretending to read for fifteen minutes. She's really sneaking peaks at Rachel's legs on tantalizing display in the teeny, tiny cut-off shorts that she's wearing over her bathing suit. It's a discreet black one-piece, but it still shows off every curve. Quinn is finding that she's a lot more comfortable with her appreciation of girls these days. She also may have appreciated Santana and Brittany—and Tina too.

"Do you still want to room with me next year, Rach?" she asks out of the blue. Well, not really out of the blue, because she's been thinking about it a lot the past couple of weeks. She's getting used to the particular brand of torture that being close to Rachel brings her, and she's thinking that maybe she can handle being a little bit closer. She has to room with someone in the dorms, and it might as well be Rachel. Quinn doesn't know if she has the patience to deal with some stranger, and frankly, she doesn't know that anyone else would be able to put up with her half as well as Rachel Berry.

And anyway, Santana might be right about that proximity thing if the way Rachel's eyes seem to rake over Quinn's bikini clad body is any indication. She knows that she's not just imagining those looks anymore. There's something between them—she can feel it—and living together could prove to be…fun.

Rachel abandons her iPod immediately and glances at Quinn with a hopeful grin. "Of course, I do. Have you changed your mind?"

Quinn shrugs in practiced nonchalance. "Do you think that you can handle me?"

"H-handle you?" Rachel repeats dumbly, biting her lip and—yep, there go those eyes again.

Quinn smiles slyly, enjoying the visual caress. "Yeah…you know…I'm kind of a bitch."

Rachel swallows. "I…I think I can handle yo…it," she squeaks quickly. "I can handle it," she promises with smile of her own. "If you think you can handle all of my crazy."

"I think maybe I can," Quinn muses as her smile grows impossibly wider. She's starting to believe that Rachel's brand of crazy could be exactly what she's needed all along. She laughs as Rachel bounces happily in her seat and starts rambling about contacting the housing authority and placing a request and then scheduling a shopping trip for all the things they're going to need for their room. Quinn knows that she's just sealed her fate, and it's either going to be the best decision she's ever made or the biggest mistake of her life. She's still processing her sexuality, and she still has a long way to go, even if she is feeling brave enough to try a little flirting. She hasn't even told Rachel that she's gay, and she'll have to soon if they're going to be roommates, but for now, Quinn just wants to enjoy the summer—enjoy Rachel and all of the possibilities that are opening up in front of her.

She feels like all of the broken and scattered pieces of Lucy Quinn Fabray are finally falling into place, and she likes the person that she's becoming. She can't wait to see where her new life will take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song:  
> Already Gone, by Kelly Clarkson


End file.
